Go Down Together
by WeBuiltThePyramids
Summary: On the cusp of near infinite resources that could allow them to make the world a better place, Team Scorpion's very existence is threatened when personal circumstances derail what is "supposed to be" and push both platonic and romantic relationships to their limits. Post "Nicole's Official Unofficial Season Five," "What Is This Feeling?" and "A Conflict of Parallels."
1. Chapter 1

**So I was planning to wait longer to start publishing this, but it turns out writing, editing, and publishing/reading reviews helps my depression, so here we are. (Updates will be slower than they were for some of my other fics, though: I do still have reading to catch up on.)**

**This is part four. Part one being Nicole's Official Unofficial Season Five, part two being What Is This Feeling, and part three being A Conflict of Parallels. This is the last installment of what I'm calling the Afterward series. It will be fairly lengthy, though probably not as long as part three (since that was supposed to be a standalone, HA). This first chapter is a prologue of sorts, setting up a couple themes of the fic, but there will be much more than is alluded to here.**

**Like I said during the start of ACOP, I want to ask that you guys trust me. There will be drama in this fic. There will be moments where you might not be sure where I'm going. I don't want to give specific content warnings due to the spoilers they would reveal, but if there is anything that you don't think you can handle reading, please send me a private message and I can tell you if any content of this fic aligns with your concerns. I don't want to trigger anyone. But what I can say up front is this fic will have a (very) happy ending. None of our canon characters + children of those characters that I've created will die. But that doesn't mean there won't be angst.**

* * *

"Florence," Walter said, looking up from the paperwork on his desk, "what color is your alphabet?"

She paused with her hand on the coat rack, turning slowly to face him. She was hungry, dinner was waiting at home, and she had been at work all afternoon. She had basically zoned out. "What?"

"Your alphabet. When you picture it in your head." Walter leaned back in his chair, his hands folded neatly on his stomach. "Mine is like red to blue, like with light and wavelengths. A is red, Z is blue, the colors in between slowly shift from the one end to the other."

She let go of her coat and walked toward him. "So like A is totally read, B is slightly less red than A, C is slightly less red than B, until you get to Z, which is totally blue?"

"Yes. Although at the middle of the alphabet, it isn't purple, it's more like tiny alternating lines of color running vertically, red, blue, red, blue."

"Interesting."

"What is yours?"

Florence thought. It was hard for her to describe it when asked, although the pictures were always clear when they came to her naturally. "I think it's kinda like yours, only per letter. The left side of the A is red, the right side is black. Same for B. It's like a gradient that goes across, but each letter has the complete effect."

Walter nodded.

"Why?"

Walter was quiet, looking away. Years ago, she would have thought he was simply breaking eye contact, and that did seem to be what he intended her to think, but her years with Sylvester, Paige, Toby, and Cabe had made her more perceptive. He had subconsciously glanced toward Paige's desk.

Florence tipped her head slightly to the side. "Amber?"

There was a long silence before Walter nodded and sighed. "I was trying to teach her the alphabet. I know she's still too young to really retain it but…you know…" he made a motion with his hand. "Exposure."

"Sure. Sure." Florence smoothed down the front of her sweater. Paige was in New Jersey visiting her mother, and while Walter had shown no outward anxiety over parenting their daughter alone – "I'm just as much her parent as Paige is, I can manage" – she knew that neither of them liked being apart for more than a day or so, and that feeling had only magnified once little Amber was born.

"We have those little magnetic letters, you know, the kind you can put on your fridge? They're red, yellow, blue, and green. And I was pointing to them and singing her that alphabet song." Walter paused. "She started crying. She kept pointing to the letters and trying to rearrange them and got…upset when I told her that that wasn't right. At first I tried to keep it light hearted, you know, made a joke about how my voice isn't as pretty as Mom's but she just had to work with me. But…" he shrugged. "Maybe she's just too young, still. I asked Happy and Toby to not do any of that with her today, just let her play. They've got their hands full enough with Tad wanting to learn everything under the sun, so I think they were glad of that."

Florence chuckled. "You'll have fun with that when you get the three of them tomorrow. Amber not wanting to learn, Tad wanting to know everything _right now_, and Ellie asking for a cat practically every time she opens her mouth. You might be on to something, though, with yours" Florence said. "I mean, if you're thinking that she might just see the alphabet differently in her head and she can't grasp it if it's laid out differently. Like how in my head, the alphabet is on a straight line A through M, then the rest of it is also in a straight line but like, a step down? So if you're writing it out, A through M is straight, then the bottom of the M would be in line with the top of the N."

"Mine is just down, like a list. A at the top, Z at the bottom."

Florence nodded, her hands tugging mindlessly at the bottom of her top. "So maybe she just needs to see it a certain way."

Walter's jaw shifted side to side. "I know it's probably not a big deal. But I've been staring at these forms for most of the morning and they're what I need to focus on, but my mind is…somewhere else."

"I know what you mean. I swear I've been so preoccupied lately. What are you working on?"

Walter sighed. "Paige doesn't want me telling anyone until it's official. But basically…" he glanced at the papers. "Basically, Scorpion has been contacted by the CEO of a major corporation. He wants to donate the majority of his salary to…" he looked at the papers again for the exact wording, "to 'scientifically driven independent humanitarians.' Thanks to our recent work in Haiti, Colombia, Syria, and the Ukraine, he considers us humanitarians, and due to Cabe's…situation…we're no longer associated with the government. He wants to meet with us in D.C. in the next couple of months to see if we might be the company he donates to."

Florence's eyes widened. "How much are we talking? Sorry," she said when she noticed how uncomfortable he looked. "I know Paige said…"

"She just doesn't want anyone to get their hopes up," Walter said. "We're talking…a lot. That's all I really can say. Enough to help us improve our transportation, our equipment…it would mean a lot less of Happy needing to fix something in a pinch, it would mean we're better equipped on _any_ mission we go on. We could change so many lives." He tapped the stack of papers. "He says he has ten organizations in mine. He's going to invite the top three to meet with him, once he determines who the top three are. But Paige…she's talked to him on the phone and she would know this more than me…she says he seemed very confident that Scorpion would be a finalist."

"That's incredible!" Florence grinned. "I won't tell anyone. Promise."

"Not even your husband," Walter said.

"What husband?" Florence shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Walter rolled his eyes. "You should probably refresh your memory before the baby comes."

Florence froze, then opened her mouth to say something along the lines of _I don't know what you're talking about_. But she changed her mind. It wasn't like it was going away. "How did you know?"

Walter was already looking back at the stack of papers, lifting one he was finished with and setting it on a smaller pile on the side. "Food is disappearing from the fridge at an increased rate, you admit you've been distracted, and you keep touching around your abdomen. Just like that," he said pointedly when his looking back up at her coincided with her setting her hand flat over her belly button. "Plus your face is redder than Mars right now. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Promise." He looked back down at the materials on his desk, then glanced back up at her almost immediately. "Sylvester…_Sylvester_ knows, right?"

"Of course Sylvester knows. But we just…we wanted to wait a little. We didn't start trying until later than we thought we would and then it took a little bit and…" _For a little while we almost didn't believe it was real._

"How long?"

"I'm twelve weeks day after tomorrow."

"Congratulations."

She gave a small smile. "Thanks. We're going to tell everyone soon. We just…" She glanced down, her smile growing ever so slightly. She wasn't showing. She looked no different. But something _was_ different. She didn't think she would ever get tired of the rush that that knowledge gave her. "We wanted it to be our little secret for a while."

"Hmm." Walter nodded. "Well. Don't tell anyone about this, and I won't tell anyone about that."

"Sounds like a deal to me." She gave him a playful smirk. "Sure you wanna be involved in another lie to Paige with me?"

"I think she'll understand."

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**Authors thrive on reviews, my loves. Hope this was enough for you to want to come on one last journey with me.**


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay," Walter said, reappearing in the living room and making sure to stand exactly where he had been, "Ms. Dog is hidden somewhere in the house. You can uncover your eyes now."

Amber removed her hands and giggled, wiggling off the couch and immediately going to look under it.

"Nope," Walter said. "Very cold. Ice cold."

Amber got up, heading toward the hallway down to the bedrooms.

"Getting warmer. Thawing out."

Amber put her hand on the first door. Ralph's bedroom, when he was around. "It's cold in there," Walter said.

Amber abandoned the door and headed across the hall, pushing the bathroom door open. "Ms. Dog, Ms. Dog…"

"Slightly warmer," Walter said, "but not warm enough."

Amber checked the lower cupboards and shower before leaving the bathroom and heading to the next door down the hallway, her room.

"Oh, oh," Walter said. "Be careful. You could scald yourself in there."

Amber stopped, looking at him in alarm.

"Warmer," Walter said quickly. "You're getting warmer. Ohhhhh even warmer," he added when she headed toward her bed. "Colder," he amended when she dropped to her knees and peered underneath. Amber turned toward her nightstand. "It's warmer that way."

Amber gasped in surprise and delight when she opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pulled a worn stuffed animal. "Ms. Dog! I found you!"

"You found her!" Walter said, throwing up his hands in celebration. "Smart girl."

Amber grinned. "Play again?"

Walter was about to say yes, then he heard a sound coming from the front door. "Why don't you go into the kitchen?" He said, mussing her hair. "There's a surprise about to arrive."

Father and daughter got back into the living area just seconds after the door opened, giving the arrival just enough time to set her bags down before the little girl zipped across the room.

"Mama! Mama!" Amber ran to Paige, bouncing in excitement. "You're home!"

"I am, sweet girl," Paige said, bending and lifting the toddler into her arms. "Oh, I missed you so much, my love."

"I missed _you_, Mama," Amber said, her arms around Paige's neck.

"Oh, I love these hugs," Paige murmured, almost to herself. She readjusted Amber so she could look at her face. "Were you a good girl for Daddy?"

"Yes. Not good for Uncle Toby."

Paige gave her an incredulous look, then a little laugh escaped her. "What do you mean you weren't good for Uncle Toby?"

Amber shrugged. "I was a brat."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Yes. But I knowed it already."

"Hmmm. We may have to talk about that later. But for now I'm just so so happy to see your face. Give me a kiss? Thank you," she said when Amber bumped her lips briefly against her mother's. "I'm gonna put you down now and say hi to Daddy, okay?"

"Okay."

Paige turned to Walter, who grinned as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Hey, Love," he said. "Good to see you. How was your flight?"

"So bumpy I would have almost rather driven if it wouldn't have been a massive time suck."

"Road trip from New Jersey to California?" Walter said. "Some would find that a lot of fun."

"Yeah, well I am neither a childless twenty something nor do I have a travel themed Instagram," Paige said. "I'll take the flying, turbulent as it may be. Hey Amber." She hunkered down. "Guess how many people threw up on my flight?"

"Eleventy twelve?"

"No." Paige raised a hand, lifting each finger as she counted. "One, two, three, _four_. Four people on the plane."

"Eeeew!" Amber said, wrinkling her nose and giggling. "Did you throw up?"

"Nope," Paige said. "Not even a teeny weenie little bit."

"Good," Amber said. "Throwing up is gross."

"That it is." Paige straightened up. "Can you put on a movie for her?"

"Would you like to watch a movie while Mom and I go to our room?" Walter asked.

"Frozen 3!" Amber said, running toward the living area. "Frozen 3!"

"She has watched that movie at least twice a day since you left," Walter said under his breath. "If I have to see Oleg's tap dancing showmen babies one more time…"

"It's Olaf," Paige said, "and you aren't watching it. You're coming with me. Anything to keep her occupied."

"Fair. They're making a fourth one, though. They're never going to stop, Paige."

"Let's worry about that another time, huh?"

"Mmmm." Paige smiled, picking up her bags, and Walter headed over to the television set. "Okay Amber, are you ready? Sit on the couch with Ms. Dog, and be sure to sing along, okay?"

By the time he got the movie playing and made sure that Amber was well occupied with it, Paige had already unpacked her suitcase and was laying flat on her back on her side of the bed. Walter shut the door and crossed the room to his side, settling on the mattress on his side. "You usually leave everything packed until you've had some sleep."

"Yeah. But there's a lot to do tomorrow and I know I'm going to want to hit snooze like seventy times in the morning."

"How's your mother?"

"She's doing okay. Adapting to life with only one real hip. I still worry about her some, alone in that house. But she's managed to convince me that she's managing just fine. And she does have a neighbor that checks in on her once a day."

"That's good. That's good."

"I also managed to talk to Mr. Yates," Paige said. "In person."

"Oh." Walter raised his eyebrows. "I was under the impression that it was just going to be a call."

"As was I. But his plane got rerouted to Newark with the weather out there, and he offered to meet me in the middle. Highlands are only about an hour from that airport, so I agreed."

"And how did it go?"

"Well, I think. He'd heard of Scorpion before – largely the rescue of Owen at the beach and our work at Chernobyl. But I told him about some of our other jobs – he was particularly fascinated by the womb we used on that premature deer, by the way – and he said that the more he learns about Scorpion, the more he thinks we could change the world with proper funding. And if I may say so, I think we're changing the world without it, so…having that money would be life changing for so many more people."

"We certainly could do a lot with it," Walter said. "Would we have full control over the funds?"

"As long as they were for bettering science, technology, and the standard of living, yes," Paige said, rolling from her back to her side, facing him. "He wants to meet more of us."

"When? And where?"

"In D.C., and he's going to get back to me on when. He is off on a trip to Egypt for at least a month."

"To meet with a competitor?"

"Oh, no," Paige said. "His daughter is getting married, and she chose Luxor because her twin lives there and is due to have twins of her own shortly after the wedding."

"Ah." Walter nodded. "Well, we will keep in touch."

"Yes. I feel good about it."

"Few are more persuasive than you."

"Hmm. How were things here? You always said they were good on the phone, but…"

"Things were good. No major cases came up. Happy and Florence were more than capable of handling that business in Burbank by themselves."

"I mean with Amber."

"Things were…fine." Walter nodded slowly. "She's still getting frustrated with the alphabet and remembering new words, but…"

"But she's two. We have to be patient with her."

"I know. It's just the way she gets frustrated. It's like she's convinced that I'm telling her the wrong thing. She tried to rearrange the alphabet letters in the order of A, K, S, Y, D, P, B, R, N…"

"You remember that order?"

"Eidetic memory, remember?"

"Of course." Paige nodded. "Did she put them in that order more than once?"

"Once she switched the S and the K," Walter said, "but she was absolutely convinced I was doing it wrong when I put them back."

"She's still a baby, Walter. It'll be okay. Ralph's father and I thought he was learning too slowly, and well, we were totally wrong about him."

"Two year olds can sing their ABCs. I'm not expecting her to be advanced."

"I'm not trying to invalidate your concerns," Paige said. "I'm only saying give her time. She walked and talked right with the average. Let's not get too caught up in her being confused about the alphabet. Okay?"

"Okay. You're right." He smiled. "I missed you. Don't go away for that long again."

She rolled her eyes, but she could tell she wasn't actually annoyed. "Walter, it was just a few days."

"I know. But…" He reached out and took her hand. "You know."

She tightened her fingers around his. "Yeah, I know. Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

**So this was supposed to be posted on like…March 1****st****. And here we are on the 12****th****. But I got hit with the flu, and I hadn't actually had it since about 2001 and I totally forgot just how much it knocks you out. I swear I've been sleeping 20 hours a day when I'm not at work.**

* * *

Paige always knew when Tad's class had gone outside for some hands – on learning, because that made the boy stressed and tired when he arrived at the garage. He liked being outside on his own terms, but putting a structured educational aspect to it drained him of his otherwise seemingly infinite vault of energy. So, despite being "too old" for an after – school nap, Team Scorpion let him sleep.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed, slowly rubbing Tad's back to help him relax and drift off.

"_And when he smiles he makes the sun shine._

_He wouldn't think to make it rain._

_Happiness runs in the family; he's a boy from the good old Earth and the high tree forest._

_And he's just about the happiest boy that I ever knew."_

Paige was nearly twenty years removed from when she thought she might be able to make a career in singing, but she'd spent the past six years lulling children to sleep this way, and she was so, so grateful that this was the primary way she used her voice. She couldn't think of anything better than this.

"_And when he smiles he makes me sigh._

_He doesn't have a point of view._

_Happiness runs in the family; he's a boy from the good old Earth and the high tree forest._

_And he's just about the happiest boy that I ever knew."_

She could tell by Tad's breathing that he had fallen asleep, but she finished the song before leaning over and gently kissing the top of his head. She rose slowly, expertly avoiding any squeaky floorboards as she made her way out of the loft and back down the stairs. With any luck, he would wake up rejuvenated and ready to play with his sister when she and their parents got home from the preschool parent night they were currently attending.

The giggles of her daughter were a welcome soundtrack to her arrival on the main floor. Amber was in her octagonal playpen – a large, toddler sized one that Happy had made for Tad – amusing herself with the pull back car that Richard Elia had given her as a gift after, as Walter put it, Team Scorpion had "saved his ass yet again."

"Is that fun, baby girl?" Paige asked.

"Look!" Amber released the car, shrieking in delight when it crashed into the wall of the playpen. "It just goes!"

"Physics," Paige said, leaning over and putting her hands on her knees. "It's physics."

Amber frowned. "It's a car."

"Yes. The car is what goes forward, and physics is what makes the car go forward."

"I make the car go forward."

Paige nodded. "Physics is the science thing that means you can make it go forward."

Amber stared at her blankly.

"You'll understand when you're older, baby."

Amber put the car down and picked up a ball. "One, two, eight!" She shouted as she threw the ball over the playpen.

Paige scampered to pick it up. "One, two, _three_," she said, returning to her daughter. "It's one, two, three." She tossed the ball back inside.

"One, two, _eight_!" The ball flew back out.

Paige laughed. "_No_, Amber." She poised herself as if she was going to shoot into a basket. "One…two…three!"

"One…two…"

"Three."

"EIGHT."

"I swear, child," Paige said, managing to catch the ball this time.

"I'm a funny lady."

"That you are," Paige said, smiling.

"Mommy?"

"Baby?"

Amber grabbed the top of her pen with both hands. "Can I have music?"

Paige hunted around for the kid radio and handed it to her daughter. "Now when Daddy gets here, he and I have some things to discuss. So you can play this, but try to keep it down, okay?"

"Okay."

"At least I said it," Paige muttered under her breath as she headed toward the door, having heard Walter's car pulling up.

"Hey," Walter said, grinning at her as he entered the garage. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she said, hugging him. "Did you get the message that we're watching Tad until later?"

"I did. My phone has not stopped working."

"Walter."

"Sorry." He shook his head. "I don't do that too often anymore."

"I have some more news about our potential windfall," Paige said. "If you're interested in hearing about it."

"Naturally I am." Walter crossed the room to the play pen, where Amber was standing on her tip toes looking up at him. "Hey, Ambie."

"Daddy," she said, dragging out the Y. Walter leaned down and hugged her. "How was work?"

Walter chuckled. "I wasn't at work, you goof."

Amber looked surprised. "But where were you?"

"Wow, I'm getting the third degree here," Walter said, looking at Paige in amusement. "I was out running errands for home. Mama was the one at work today."

"Why?"

"Because we live in a feminist society," Walter said, so casually Paige had to stifle a laugh.

"What's a minist society?"

"Something you'll appreciate when you're older," Walter said. "Now you play with your toys while Mama and I talk, okay?"

"I have the radio." Amber picked it up and showed him.

"Oh, excellent. Play with the radio." Walter straightened up and looked at Paige. "Talk upstairs?"

"Tad's sleeping up there."

"Right. Well, I suppose…" he gestured around the space.

"We're good to talk here, yeah," Paige said. "I got a little more information today. Not much, but I'd say any information is helpful. Of course, the other people got the same information, but…"

"Do we know who the main competitors are?"

Paige grinned, pleased to be able to reveal that information. "That. We. Do."

Walter hiked himself up onto his desk. "Lay it on me."

"I wish I could," she said, "but our child is right there."

Walter stared at her blankly. She giggled. "That was a – "

"_Oh_," he said. She saw his cheeks pink up slightly. "Right. Got it. Ha, yeah. Anyway."

"Anyway." Paige took out her phone and pulled up the e-mail app. "Doo de doo…okay, here it is. So first on this list is Steven Royce."

"I've heard of him. He's the…the…" Walter snapped his fingers. "The law cop."

Paige raised her eyebrows. "Attorney?"

Walter nodded, snapping his fingers again. "Yes. That's the word I was looking for."

"Yeah, so he's on here, I think because of the type of clients he's been taking on recently. Then we have someone named Chana Wolowitz, who I hadn't heard of but a Google search showed she has done quite a few exciting things on the East Coast in green chem over the past few years."

"Green chem," Walter said. "That's certainly a field this benefactor would be interested in."

"I agree. Next on the list is Thomas Beek. He's working on agricultural improvements in Cambodia."

"Are we sure he isn't working on ornithological improvements in Cambodia?"

"Is this because his last name is Beek?"

"Yes."

"Nice. But no." Paige scrolled. "Next is us…I'm just realizing this isn't in alphabetical order…okay, so there's also a company that I can't pronounce, they appear to be Polish, and they're working on prosthetic limbs. And last on the list is Marcie Lucas. I know of her. She won the Judith A. Resnik Award the second year after they reinstated it."

"Isn't…isn't that award about Space Engineering? What relevance does that have to do with humanitarian work?"

"Helping make the world a better place is subjective," Paige said. "Sally Ride is most well known for her space travels, but she did a lot to encourage children to pursue the sciences."

"I…was going to say that space technology can be adapted for practical every day use on Earth," Walter said, "but hey, your thing works too."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so a lot going on here. A lot of good people."

"Agreed."

"I don't want to call it a competition," Paige said slowly.

"Anyone who gets this money will do good things with it. The planet will benefit greatly."

"That it will."

They fell silent, looking at each other. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Walter asked after a moment.

"That technically it _is_ a competition and we're gonna win?"

"Exacly."

They high fived. "We'll tell the team at the meeting tomorrow, sound good?" she asked.

"Sounds good."

Paige grinned, kissing him quickly. "I'm excited. We're going to change the world."

* * *

"And smile!"

"I can't in good conscience smile knowing that we're being deceitful."

"Florence, in ten years neither of us are going to remember that we took this one day late, and no one else is ever going to know."

"Two counterpoints," she said, holding up two fingers. "One, no one will be looking at these in ten years because no one looks at these ten _days_ after a baby is born, and two, if anyone does, it will be us, and both of us will remember that I was technically past the twelve – week mark when we took the twelve – week photo. Florence smoothed down the front of her sweater. "But we'll let this be a learning experience. We certainly won't be late any other weeks."

"Oh, this is a cute one. I like it." Sylvester was smiling at the camera.

Florence cocked her head. "You didn't take it yet."

"Oh," Sylvester said with a grin, "but I did."

He showed her the display. She was standing in the spot, a small grin on her face, throwing up a peace sign…no, that was her putting up the two fingers to argue that they would always know the photo was taken a day late. She rolled her eyes. "I hate you."

"You love me, and you also agree the photo is cute because I saw your smile when you looked at it."

"Fine. I love it. I look adorable. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"That. And maybe that you think it's time for us to tell people."

"You think it is?"

He shrugged. "I mean, you were twelve weeks yesterday, meaning we are officially out of the first trimester." His eyes widened. "Oh my God, this is a second trimester pregnancy."

"Damn," Florence said, the realization hitting her. She grinned. "Okay. Yes. I want to tell people. I want to tell everyone." She hugged him, sighing when he ran his fingers through her hair. "I've loved keeping it between us. But I want to tell people."

"Same here," he said. "On both accounts. How do you want to do it? At the meeting tomorrow? Or individually?"

"Those are always boring meetings," Florence said. "They'll be grateful for us to bring something interesting to the table."


	4. Chapter 4

**It isn't that I have writer's block. I know exactly where this is going. It's more like I'm busy, and then when I sit down to write, I get so damn tired. **

**But I am about two hundred steps away from getting health insurance back (I started a million steps away so this is good progress) and maybe once I have regular medication again I'll be able to write more frequently. I hope so.**

**Also any of you not watching The Good Place please watch it so I'll have readers for my Good Place fic. ;)**

* * *

"Alright," Paige said. "We're all here, and so that means I'm officially calling the Team Scorpion board meeting to order."

"I have some new business," Toby said, raising his hand. "This whole meeting concept is stupid. We can have conversations at our desks like we used to."

Paige kept the same smile on her face. "A board meeting setting increases attention span and productivity."

"Can we not call it board meeting, though?" Sylvester asked. "It makes it sound like an episode of _The Apprentice._"

"_The Apprentice_ did not invent the term 'board meeting'," Paige said, the smile still present, but notably forced. "May we proceed to the point, please?"

"I think we should let Paige get to the point," Walter said.

"Buddy, you're already getting laid consistently, you don't have to pretend you like this boardroom idea."

"I'm insulted that you would think that I would not naturally be in favor of something that should increase efficiency." Walter stood and put an arm around Paige's waist. "And I'm also insulted that you think I would not stand up for Paige simply because she has a good idea."

"Thank you, babe," Paige said with a smile. "Toby, if you're finished?"

He put his hands up in mock surrender.

"Perfect. So as you know, our payment on the Sommers job came in, and we should be paid for the work we did for Molina's contractor by the end of the week. And we've finally fixed our direct deposit issue, so that's one less hoop to jump through. Now, we do have some pretty exciting news to share," Paige said with a smile.

She glanced at Florence. Walter knew Paige had picked a person at random, even subconsciously, to smile at. But when he saw Sylvester's face change, he knew things were about to get confusing.

"Wait, she knows?" Sylvester said in a low voice.

"She doesn't know," Florence said.

"I don't know what?" Paige said.

Sylvester looked confused. "About…the news."

"_You_ know about the news?"

"Why wouldn't I know about the news?" Sylvester asked.

"You told Sylvester the news?" Paige asked, turning to Walter.

"No," Walter said.

"No," Florence said at the same time. "Not your news."

"You haven't heard my news."

"I _didn't_ tell _him_ our news," Walter promised.

"Why did you emphasize 'him' instead of 'didn't' in that sentence?"

Sylvester tapped Florence's arm. "Are you _sure_ Paige doesn't know our news?"

"How would she know our news?" Florence shot Walter a look.

"I didn't tell Paige your news," Walter said.

"You know their news?" Paige asked. She turned to Florence. "Did he tell you our news?"

Toby leaned over to Happy. "Up for a drinking game every time they say 'news'?"

"We have children at home and we can't afford to die or get our stomachs pumped."

"Hey!" Paige clapped her hands together. "Can we have order in the meeting room, please?"

"You were the one who – " Toby began.

"The Tipton – Dodds will _not_ – "

"_Hey_!"

Walter enjoyed being reminded of how authoritative Paige could be. Seven years of uninterrupted relationship and he still found that hot.

"Sorry," Sylvester mumbled.

"Do you guys want to talk about your news first?" Paige said. "Ours will take a while."

"No," Florence said. "You go first. Ours might end up being distracting."

"You're pregnant," Toby said. He nudged Happy, completely unaware of the deer in the headlights expression on Sylvester's face. "Remember before everyone knew Paige was pregnant with Amber and Ralph and Patty were joking that Flor…"

"Wait, _are you_?" Happy asked, staring at the Tipton – Dodds.

"You do have _that look_ on your face…"

"Let them tell it," Walter said. "Even I know that we should let them tell it."

"You don't seem surprised," Sylvester said, raising an eyebrow.

"It wasn't her fault. I picked up on it."

"Wait," Paige was looking between Walter and the seated couple. "What's actually…"

"I am a little over twelve weeks pregnant," Florence said with a nod, a smile coming over her face.

"And we definitely took the twelve – week photo on the twelve week day," Sylvester said.

"Why on Earth would you bring that up if we actually did?" Florence asked.

"Because we _did_." He gave her a wink.

"I'm still confused," Happy said. "Are you…pregnant?"

Florence nodded. "I am. This announcement was made way more complicated than it needed to be, but I am."

"Here." Sylvester dug into his bag. "Sonogram!"

Paige wrapped her arms around Walter's at the elbow. "Oh my gosh," she breathed.

"Exciting," Walter said

Happy took the image and studied it. "Wow, Sly. It has your squiggly black lines."

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Sylvester said.

"Let us see!" Paige said, reaching out for it. She looked at Walter with an eyebrow raised. "Unless you were already privy to this sonogram."

"No. I merely suspected off behavior and she confirmed before leaving last week. I have not seen any imaging."

Paige took the sonogram from Happy. "Aw, this reminds me of when, oh! Walter, Happy and Toby!"

Everyone stared at her. Toby broke the silence. "Uh…what?"

"We should hang up all the kids' sonogram pictures in a row in birth order. We could do it in the kitchen or over by the desks."

"We don't have Tad's," Happy reminded her.

"We can ask if Aimee has a copy. Or can get one." Happy shrugged. "I know they lost a lot in the…the incident, and we didn't ask for her to dig around when we got him, but we could ask now. The worst that can happen is she says she can't get anything. We have certainly been in far more alarming situations."

"Actually," Paige said, "that is a great segue into the news Walter and I have."

Walter watched as Paige pulled up her laptop and projected the presentation they had worked on for hours – many hours – over the past few days. It was simply an explanation of the situation and ideas for which of their many accomplishments to recreate and highlight, but she spoke about it with al the professionalism and excitement of a business pitch. Walter was proud.

And a little turned on. But mostly proud.

"This could be totally lifechanging for us," Happy said when Paige had concluded.

"And for the world," Sylvester said.

"I'm familiar with all of those people," Florence said. "Chana is a former friend of mine, and I've met Beek and Lucas in professional settings."

"Think we can beat them?" Paige asked.

There was a firery competitive glint in her eyes. Florence noticed it, appearing alarmed for a moment. "Uh…" she cleared her throat. "I think our work is just as potentially beneficial as any."

"Uh – uh," Paige said, shaking her head. "Not _potentially _beneficial. We _know_ that our work changes things. We just have to make sure they're practical applications. And that is where we brainstorm. We have done hundreds over the past ten plus years. We just have to make sure we pick the right ones and present them in the right way."

"How long do we have?" Florence asked.

"About three months," Paige said. "So I know you'll be pushing third trimester by the time we go…"

"People can fly until like, thirty – six weeks, I think," Florence said. "I can fly at twenty – four. Unless of course you all plan to pick successes that predate my addition to the team and do not need me."

"Nonsense," Sylvester said, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "You'll participate in our pitch no matter what we choose to present."

"We are stronger together," Paige said with a nod. "We all go to D.C. if we are all able. I'm sure Cabe would come, too."

"This is the kind of thing that would draw him out of his semi – retirement," Toby said.

"It doesn't take much to draw him out of his semi – retirement," Walter said. "I told him he wouldn't really be able to stay away long."

"He'll definitely want to be here for this," Paige said. She smiled. "Okay, everyone ready to start figuring this out?" At the nods from the rest of the team, she smiled, reaching out to hold her hand over the middle of the table. "Put them here. 'Scorpion' on three."


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter may appear to be full of fluff and humor, but it's more than that. See what you can pick up on for later. ;)**

* * *

"I have a fantastic surprise for you," Happy announced as she walked into the home. "But first of all, are the children asleep?"

"They're out like a light," Toby said. "What's this surprise?"

"So I bought something…" Happy pulled some clothing out of her shopping bag. "I thought you might like to take it off me a little later."

"Is this…is this a Helen of Troy costume?" He put a hand to his heart. "Happy, you know me so well."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "I thought we could both do something particularly fun."

"Absolutely. You are the best wife in the world." He kissed her. "Go put it on! Go put it on!"

"Not so fast, doc," she said with a smile. "I haven't given you

She pulled something out of her bag and handed it to him.

"Is this a…mustache?" He asked. "Is this…Salvador Dali's mustache?"

"It is."

"You want me to be Salvador Dali? You want Salvador Dali to make sweet repetitive love to Helen of Troy?"

"Isn't historically inaccurate role play kind of our thing?"

He considered that. "Excellent point, mi esposa."

"Ah. In character already." She bit her bottom lip flirtatiously. "I like it." She cocked her head. "I uh…I really need you to wear the mustache, though."

* * *

Sylvester Tipton – Dodd was damn lucky.

There were points in his life where that would be an incredibly inaccurate statement. His first wife died. The first person he loved after that admitted to feelings for someone else. His family fell apart. He shot somebody.

Yeah, 2018 had been particularly rough.

But he was lucky, overall, and he was in a position where he could reflect on just how so.

He'd had the chance to love Megan, and be loved by her right back. Florence, who had seemed so unattainable for varying reasons over the better part of a year, was his wife. She was carrying their baby.

And best of all, she was a woman who didn't mind their wedding photo sharing their dresser with a framed photo of him and the first woman he'd ever given his heart to. And when she walked into their bedroom and saw him staring at his and Megan's photo, she walked over and wrapped her arms around his, resting her head against his shoulder, and asked, "are you okay?"

"Yeah." He smiled down at her. "Yeah, I'm good."

"She'll be gone ten years this year, huh?"

"This calendar year, yes. We're still a ways away from the actual…anniversary."

"If this baby is a girl," Florence started.

"No."

"No?"

"I don't know." He pulled his arm out of hers to put it around her. "I don't know if she would have wanted that. She might have thought it was me being stuck in the past."

Florence looked at him, lifting her eyebrows in a mix of playful and suggestive that he found equal parts adorable and attractive. "Doesn't seem you're stuck back there."

"It's a balance," he said.

"You balance it very well." She motioned to him, that she wanted him to lean down. He did, and she brushed her lips over his. "I know I'm not her. But I think we do okay."

"Stop it." He shifted so he was standing in front of her. "I don't wish you were her. She was a wonderful part of my life. You are a wonderful part of my life."

"I know, Sly," she said, grabbing both his hands and squeezing them. "I know. But I never want you to feel bad for missing her. It doesn't make me feel inadequate, or anything."

"I know." They'd had this conversation before. But it felt good to have it again, periodically. They both felt better knowing they were on the same page. "I miss her and love you all at the same time."

She grinned. "_On_ that note. Remember what the doctor said about a possible increase in libido in the second trimester?"

"I know where you're going with this. I knew when you jumped me last night when we'd just done it the day before." She lifted her eyebrows again. Sylvester cleared his throat. "Wait, you want to do it _again_?"

* * *

"No," Paige said, shaking her head while staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I'm tired."

"Fair enough." Walter stretched. "It's been a long day."

"Not just work. Actually, not even _really_ work. Amber just had so much energy even taking her to the park didn't really help. She'll sleep soundly now, at least." Paige gave a little laugh. "But man, toddlers are the best birth control."

"That would explain you not giving Ralph a sibling before he was eighteen."

"True story, though. Well, that and my relationship with his father had imploded by the time Ralph was three." She rolled on her side to face him. "I miss him."

"I know you do." He reached out and stroked her arm. "But he's happy, Paige. Things were rough for a while, and now he's happy."

"And I'm happy when he's happy," Paige said. "I just wish it could have worked out with him being happy here."

"Me, too." He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I miss him, too. It seems like just yesterday he was running into the garage to look at the rocket I was building."

"Remember when he dressed up like you for picture day?"

"I don't have much memory of that day."

"Right. Because…right."

"I remember that, though. Vaguely. Maybe I just think I do because I've heard about it so much."

Paige ran a hand through his hair. "We're lucky that wonderful brain of yours still works at this point." She smiled at him. "I'm not too tired for you to kiss me."

Walter scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. She closed her eyes, kissing him back blissfully. "Oh, I love you," she murmured.

"You're my math and science," he said, his forehead against hers.

"I'm your what?"

"You know. Some say moon and stars."

Paige giggled. "Oh my gosh I like that."

"Good."

He kissed her again, and she moaned quietly against his lips, her hand on the side of his face with his ear tucked between her thumb and index finger. She moved the hand down to his shirt, curling it into her fist and starting to roll back over to her back. "Ugh, Walter, get on top of me."

He lifted his head, crawling to her side of the bed and settling on her. "You sure?" he asked, lowering his head to kiss her on the neck. "You're tired."

"I am, but I've done plenty of things while tired if I'm in the mood for them." She shifted her hips on the mattress, enabling her to hook her legs around his waist. "And my current mood is _don't stop or we're getting divorced_."

"Well," Walter said, sliding a hand under her shirt and unhooking her bra, "we can't have that, now can we?"

* * *

Cabe was retired. Mostly. He was feeling his age in his joints and in the time he preferred to turn in for the night. But that didn't mean he wasn't still quite young in certain ways. For example, when Allie dropped down on the couch next to him and asked "wanna fool around?" he said yes.

Well, usually. Tonight was different.

"Uh, let's take a rain check on that," he said, taking her hand and squeezing it. "For some reason I feel like us messing around right now would be weird."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I love y'all.**

* * *

"Hey!" Allie said, looking excited to see Walter and Paige even though they'd told her they had arrived at their house. "How was Virginia?"

"Fairly uneventful," Walter said. "For us," he amended when Paige lifted her eyebrows.

"Fair enough," Allie said with a laugh. "Come in, come in."

"She's in the bedroom," Cabe said. "We're letting her pretend to paint it. She's enjoying herself."

"Thank you _so_ much for watching her, you two," Paige said, hugging first Cabe and then Allie tightly.

"We are always happy to get to spend quality time with our grandchildren," Allie said. "Amber! Sweetie, come see who it is."

Amber walked out of the bedroom into the hallway, a paintbrush in her hand. Her eyes lit up when she saw her parents. "Mommy Daddy!" She ran to them, going to Paige with her arms outstretched.

"Baby girl," Paige said, bending down and lifting the little girl to her hip. "We missed you."

"Hey, Ambie," Walter said, kissing the top of her head. "Did you have a good time?"

"I paint the woom."

"Did you choose a color palette that is conducive to a good night's rest?" Walter asked.

"Yes," Amber said.

"Do you have any idea what Daddy is talking about?" Paige asked.

"I paint."

Paige laughed and cuddled her close.

Walter pulled Cabe aside. "So did you work with the alphabet letters?"

"A little," Cabe said.

He clearly didn't want to talk about it. "Is she still putting them in the wrong order?"

"Walter. She's two."

"Two – year – olds can…"

"_Some _two – year – olds can sing the ABCs," Cabe said. "That doesn't mean something is wrong if she can't yet, and it also doesn't mean she can recognize the letters."

"How is she doing with plurals?"

"Walter. Not every two – year – old can do that well. And she's only been two for a few months."

"Her speech goes in and out. She makes simple sentences sometimes and sometimes can't string more than a word or two together. I just don't want – "

"Walt," Cabe said gently, "there is nothing wrong with your daughter. Even if she _is _having difficulties learning. She's a wonderful little girl. She is sweet, she is happy. I know you don't believe in this sort of thing, but you're blessed. Try to stop concerning yourself with her being ahead of the game and enjoy watching her figure things out."

"Daddy."

Walter turned away from Cabe. Amber was still in Paige's arms, but she was leaning in Walter's direction, a hand outstretched. Walter reached out and took it, stepping closer to them and smiling at his daughter. "Hey, little girl."

"Love love love you."

"Yeah," he said, squeezing her hand. "I love love love you too."

* * *

"We did not think through what my initials would be when we decided to both change our names to Tipton – Dodd."

"Sly," Florence said. "We have been over this."

"I know. I'm just tired of all the jokes."

"Who is making jokes?"

"No one." A pained look came over his face. "But I'm thinking of them."

"Well, think about this." Florence grinned. "In case you hadn't noticed, there were no mirrors available for use while we were in Virginia, and now that I've seen myself for the first time in nearly a week, I can finally tell that I'm pregnant."

Sylvester cocked his head. "You mean the nausea, doubled food intake, and a sexual appetite that's, quite frankly, absolutely terrifying wasn't already a sign?"

Florence rolled her eyes. "First of all, I guarantee I'm still asking you for sex less frequently than Happy and Toby and they have two kids to work around. Secondly, I mean I'm showing. Like for real now."

"Okay, not to…argue or anything…but you still kinda look the same to me. At least, close to the same as our last couple photos."

"Because you see me every day. But I am. Look." She dropped to the ground, laying flat on her back and tugging her sweater tightly around her.

"Okay. I can maybe see it when you do _that_."

"Good." Florence got up. "Now that that business is out of the way…"

"Florence, no," Sylvester said.

"I'm not making a move on you, relax. What I _am_ attempting to do is tell you I think I've come up with my modifier from your Chernobyl gig. We should be able to create seals around maritime disasters, though it will obviously need permission to test it or otherwise recreate ocean conditions…"

She continued, pulling up a few simulations on her laptop and pointing out a few variables that were concerning her. Sylvester was astounded at her ability to get so much done in such a short amount of time.

Well – it had been a month since Paige and Walter had initially shared this prospect with them. But Tad had gotten sick at school, and then of course Ellie and then Amber had followed, and _then_ they had to go to New Mexico and then Virginia and…they'd been busy. Florence and Walter were easily farther along on their projects than the others were, though now that their kids were better, Happy and Toby were probably making good progress on their assignment – an updated, perfected version of the pseudo-womb the team had made for the deer in Africa.

Florence had rolled her eyes at the decision to use that one for their pitch, and no one had understood why until Sylvester had explained that Chana Wolowitz, one of their competitors for this donation, had complimented that particular accomplishment at the convention the two of them had attended in Florida years before. "My project will be the best one, anyway," she'd said.

"Of all of ours, or out of all the ones of everyone competing for this benefactor?" Sylvester had asked.

"Yes."

She hadn't been joking. Sylvester could tell with the amount of work she'd completed even with two months to go to the meeting in D.C.


	7. Chapter 7

**Little bit of a time jump, here!**

* * *

"Can you imagine that we've spent the last six weeks working on perfecting all these things only to have the _plane_ that's supposed to transport them be the thing that goes bad?" Happy grumbled, flipping the wrench she was holding up in the air, watching it sail end over end, come to a stop, and then fall back down. She caught it expertly, spinning it in her hand before sending it up again.

"Am I still learning things about your past after almost ten years together?" Toby asked. "Were you by any chance in the marching band?"

"Marching band? Ha!" Happy caught the wrench. "Like I'd be caught dead in spatterdashes."

"I don't know, I think it would be pretty hot."

Happy rolled her eyes, then cleared her throat and lowered her voice. "We can talk about it later."

"Yes, please talk about it later," Cabe said. "Ah," he added when Happy and Toby jumped. "Totally forgot I was here, huh?"

"I stand by my comment that my wife would look attractive in spats." Toby clapped his hands together. "Did you talk to your contact about a solution to our transportation problem?"

"I have," Cabe said. "Possibly. Happy, are you comfortable piloting?"

"What would I be piloting?" Happy asked. "The answer is yes, but I'm curious."

Cabe gave her the details of the plane. "The owner is happy to let us use it for a standard rental fee," he said. "But he isn't able to go along. I said you had your pilot's license – I'm assuming you haven't let it lapse – and that his plane was in more than capable hands."

"You assume correctly," she said. "On both accounts."

"Excellent." Cabe gave her a wink. "Just don't crash us, okay?"

"I don't plan for any more deserted islands to be in our future," Happy said. She flipped the wrench upward again.

Toby grinned. "That's my wife."

"Why are you identifying Happy to us?" Walter asked, entering the garage with Paige behind him.

"Um, more importantly, where is your child?"

"With your children," Paige said pointedly. "At Cabe and Allie's."

"You dropped her off with Allie?"

"She was already there when you brought Tad and Ellie," Paige said. She cocked her head. "You guys…okay?"

"Yes," Happy said. "We were just stressed about the plane situation. But Cabe came through for us."

"What plane situation?" Walter asked.

"The plane you were planning to take out East to this benefactor competition has some severe issues that will take weeks to be fixed," Cabe said.

"Well, that's a problem," Paige said. "We leave end of this week and we need something private to load our..."

Cabe raised his eyebrows at her.

"Oh. Right, you've figured something out." Paige gestured vaguely toward Happy and Toby. "A little slow to connect the dots tonight, I guess. So where are Florence and Sylvester? Or did we already cover that, too?"

"They're coming right from their appointment," Toby said.

Paige frowned. "Wasn't it at three? The twenty – two week checkup isn't supposed to take long."

"It doesn't, usually," Toby said. "At this point unless there's a problem they don't do a whole lot until the end of the trimester."

"I hope nothing's wrong," Paige said. She'd barely gotten the words out when the garage door opened again.

"Sorry we're late," Sylvester said, holding the door for his wife. He looked solemn. Florence greeted them all with a thin smile.

"Is…is everything…" Cabe began.

"Yeah, everything's good. With us, at least," Florence said. She glanced at Sylvester. "The woman before us, uh, well, we don't know, but they had her leave through the back."

"Oh, no," Paige said. "That doesn't sound like a good thing."

"We don't think it was," Sylvester said. "And I feel guilty for this, but I'm trying distract from thinking about what that might have been about to focus on the fact that our little one is doing absolutely wonderful."

"That's all you can do," Toby said. "There's no shame in being happy about things going well."

"And things _are_?" Walter said. "Just…just to clarify. Things _are_ going well?"

"We are both healthy as a horse," Florence said, running a hand over her belly. "Eating like one, too. And growing like a weed."

"Are you guys finding out the sex?" Cabe asked.

"Nope," Sylvester said. "We want to be surprised. Doc doesn't know either yet. He or she has been very modest in the ultrasounds."

"Just like his or her parents," Florence said with a smirk.

Sylvester lifted a hand.

Toby cocked his head. "Why would you high five that?"

Florence smacked her hand against Sylvester's. "You and Walter high fived some weird sex thing you let your wives do you to last week."

"I'm sorry, you and Walter what?" Paige asked, looking at her husband with her eyebrows up.

Walter shrugged awkwardly. "He brought it up, he offered the high five…I wanted to be agreeable."

"That's probably the attitude that led him to let her try the weird sex thing," Sylvester whispered to Florence, who put a hand over her mouth to mask a laugh.

"I will have to go in the grave to escape you all being like this," Cabe grumbled.

"Sorry, Gallo," Toby said.

"I think the word we're looking for here," Paige said, "is _anyway_…"

"_Anyway_," Happy picked up, "if we can get the plane tomorrow, I'll go over it, make sure everything is solid, and then come end of the week we'll be set to go on schedule. I don't know what those motorized seat belts have come up with, but there's no way they're more beneficial to humanity than our projects."

"Motorized seat belts?" Paige asked in a low voice.

"A useless car feature," Sylvester said. "They've been her insult of choice lately."


	8. Chapter 8

"This is actually still a decent plane," Sylvester said, taking Florence's bag and shoving it into the compartment.

"Thanks, babe," she said, easing down onto the seat next to his. "I hope we don't hit turbulence. My balance is starting to go a bit."

Sylvester nodded, still studying the cabin. "No comfortable couches, but there's a level of private space every couple chairs, so we can all sit with our spouses. And it's clean. This pleases me greatly."

"You losers can stay back here in the cabin," Toby said. "My private space is with my wife in the cockpit."

"Absolutely not," Happy said. "The owner of the plane sent along his son as the copilot, and I don't want him backing out on us last minute so I'm not subjecting him to all your dad jokes."

"I still say I would have been a good copilot," Toby said. He turned to Walter and Paige. "Did I ever tell you how Happy made fun of me about my lack of a sense of direction?"

"No," Walter said.

"Yeah it was pretty bad, so I packed up my stuff and right."

Paige groaned.

"This is exactly why you can't be in the cockpit," Happy said, tapping him firmly on the chest before disappearing through the door.

* * *

There was some wind present by the time the team was ready to take off, but they were cleared to go on schedule. Simon, the copilot, came over the intercom to give the update. "Please remember the emergency thingamajig we talked about earlier, and it is now time to buckle up, because we're going to put this baby in the sky!"

Walter frowned, leaning over to Paige. "The term 'buckle up' always sort of turns me on, and it's very weird when it's not you saying it."

"Hey," Paige said, "we're getting older every day. I don't care who gets your motor running as long as I'm the only garage you visit."

He rolled his eyes. "_Obviously_ it's only attractive because I can't hear it without picturing you in my shirt."

"As much as I _do_ love getting details of your private life," Sylvester said, "and as _classic_ as this particular story has become, Cabe isn't here to scar for life, so maybe tone it down a little."

"Tone it down?" Toby repeated. "The copilot just referred to our safety and emergency evacuation plans as a _thingamajig_. These may be our last hours alive."

"You're more dramatic than the wannabe actress I roomed with in college," Paige said.

"Attention, please," came Simon's voice. "It is time to turn phones into Airplane Mode. So time to get off Tinder, Grinder, Farmers Only dot com, wherever you are swiping, we do not judge, but do need you to…"

"Dear lord," Walter muttered.

The plane picked up speed lifting into the air, and Paige noticed both Florence and Sylvester grab the motion sickness bags available in each compartment. She realized she wasn't sure where hers was located. She hoped she wouldn't get air sick.

The plane slowly reached cruising altitude, tipping just a bit with the wind. Paige closed her eyes, trying to zone out as Toby began giving statistics about motion sickness. She was nervous about what they were headed East to try to do. She got irritable when she was nervous, and Toby providing non stop commentary on the flight wasn't helping. He'd been chatty like this in the van over, too.

They hit slight turbulence, tipping one way and then the other. "Weeeeeeeee!" Toby held his arms out, leaning side to side like a plane against the wind. "This is fun, huh?"

Paige, resting her cheek against her hand, glanced at him. "Toby, the kids aren't here, you don't have to do that."

"Oops." Toby grinned. "Just a habit, I guess."

"I have never been in that habit in my life," Walter deadpanned.

"Guess I'm just a better dad than you, then," Toby said, adjusting his hat.

"You are absolutely not a better dad than me."

"Paige," Toby said, "which of us is the better dad?"

"Of course she's going to pick me," Walter said, "I'm the one she's parenting with."

"Which might be exactly why she'd pick me."

"The best father of everyone here?" Paige said. "_Me_. Because I had to be mother and father to Ralph, and I did it alone for seven years."

Walter and Toby were quiet, looking at each other. "Alright," Toby said. "We were joking around and you made it really real, but fair enough."

Paige was resting against the divider. Walter leaned over, resting his head on his shoulder and squeezing her knee. "Ugh, it is too hot in here to be your pillow, Walt."

"No it isn't," he said, "you're just mad you didn't think to make me yours first."

"My wife is flying the plane, and I'm stuck back here watching Waige PDA." Toby made a face of mock disgust.

"I mean, you could turn around here and watch me rub my wife's feet," Sylvester said, "but I'd imagine that would distress you more."

Toby peered over the divider. "You're rubbing her feet with gloves on?" He cocked his head. "I thought the magical thing about your relationship is you actually _like_ touching her."

Sylvester looked at Toby as if he had two heads. "They're still _feet_."

The plane jostled. Happy's voice came over the intercom. "We're experiencing some slight turbulence again. Do not be alarmed, but leave your seat belts on."

The intercom crackled on again, and this time Simon's voice was heard. "However, if you happen to see the pilots screaming and leaving the air bus, feel free to grab a parachute and follow."

"Not funny!" Sylvester called.

The intercom activated again. "I'm sorry," Simon replied, "we're not taking questions or comments from the audience just yet."

There was a rattling sound, and then Happy's voice again reached their ears. "You'll have to forgive my copilot. His mouth is talking. I'm working to fix that."

"Well, they seem to be having fun," Sylvester remarked.

The plane shook, as if it was going over potholes.

Florence jumped up and fled for the bathroom.

"Poor lady," Toby said. "She's just gotten over morning sickness and now she's got air sickness." When no one responded, he tapped his foot. "Do you guys want to see something cool? I could perform a magic trick."

"Or you could perform a stop it," Walter suggested.

"Honestly, both of you," Paige said with a heavy sigh. "I know you're both nervous about this presentation. We all are. But when Walter, you're coping by getting quiet and broody and Toby, you're talking enough to make up for his silence. And everything about that is driving _me_ absolutely crazy." She ran a hand through her hair. "If we get on each other's nerves now, we're going to act like assholes when it counts, and that's not how we get these donations. We have to figure out how to cope with nerves _without_ it being at everyone else's expense."

Florence emerged from the bathroom. "Well," she said in response to the others looking her way, "I was scared I was going to throw up all over the floor in there, and I didn't, so…small victories?"

"You didn't throw up?" Sylvester said. "I'm impressed."

"Oh I threw up," she said. "I just threw up in the toilet and not all over the floor."

Sylvester gave a slow nod, then lifted a hand. "Hey. Small victories."

Florence completed the high five. The plane jostled again, and she overcorrected, slamming her hip into the side of the seat as she sat back down. "Imagine what my balance would be like in the third trimester," she commented. "I won't be able to walk on the _ground_ at this rate."

"You're experiencing a very different situation than you do on the ground," Toby said. "With your midsection growing slowly, you should be able to adjust just fine, although you will find that the pregnancy alters your…" he trailed off. "I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

Paige nodded.

"Oops." Toby clapped his hands together. "Hey, why don't I lead a breathing exercise? It will help all our nerves, plus Florence, Florence can get a jump start on Lamaze."

"Florence is tired," Florence said. "Florence is going to get a jump start on a _nap_."

"Fine." Toby shrugged. "I thought I would distract you all from how much better the project I was working on is better than all of yours, but if you'd rather dwell on getting upstaged by the person with a lower IQ, then feel free to…"

"My IQ is lower than yours and _my_ project is best," Florence said. "So I think I'm the real winner here."

"Um, excuse me," Paige said, raising a hand.

Walter was looking around curiously. "I'm sorry, correct me if I'm wrong, but did this suddenly become a competition for who is the _least _genius?"

"That it did," Paige said. She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "Loser."

* * *

**Just giving a brief reminder that there will be some heavy-ish stuff in this fic, not coming next but at some point during it. I'll reiterate here that nobody dies, and there's no sexual violence. If beyond that you feel you might need a more specific warning, please message me (do not ask for a warning in a review, because if it's anonymous I can't reply)**


	9. Chapter 9

"So?" Toby, sitting cross legged on the bed, bounced in place as his wife entered the room and threw off her coat. "What sort of dirt did you dig up at guest social without me?"

"No dirt," Happy said, sliding under the covers. "And you were free to come with me, you know. Everyone basically just exchanged pleasantries, grabbed some cookies, and made some small talk before going back to their rooms. I just got some information on what specifically people are doing. I think we have a decent shot at this."

"Well, tell me something I don't know!" He joked.

Happy rolled her eyes. "Marcie Lucas is working on several projects, but the one everyone is talking about is her concept of drones that can take out meteors that would hit the earth and cause another mass extinction. How practical is that overall?" Happy shifted on the mattress.

"I suppose you could argue that while used less frequently, when it is utilized it would save every human being on the planet. Which of course, none of us can match with any of our work examples."

"That's certainly an extreme example of the Greater Good."

Toby nodded. "Tell me about it. We could probably construct a model that shows probability of an event that each of our work could help occurring as well as the amount of good that is projected to come from it."

"That would have been a nice thing for you to do while I was out trying to be a social butterfly."

"Oh, I've already done it for all of Scorpion's projects. But now that we know more about the others…"

Happy raised her eyebrows.

"I'll get on it in a minute."

"You mean, you'll text Sylvester asking him to do it?"

"Fine. Sylvester's been running the numbers. But I still say our project is the best one we have."

"I agree," Happy said. "But we have to present as a united front tomorrow. I'm a bit worried that Florence or my competitive streak will come out and we will, well…"

"_Be_ you guys?" Toby asked.

"Well. Yeah." Happy played with her wedding ring. "I'm also worried that someone might hit a nerve with Paige and she'll make a petty remark. I'm also worried you'll make a comment that someone finds inappropriate, and I'm worried that Sylvester will get flustered or that Walter will be insulting…I'm just _worried_."

"I get that." Toby leaned over and patted the covers over her leg. "But we always come through when it's absolutely critical."

"Yeah. But the odds say eventually we won't. And we've never done anything quite like this before."

"That's true. Though we've been so successful at so many crazy things over the years, and how many of our craziest things have we ever done twice? We're getting the shot at that this time. We've had time and a relaxed environment to perfect things we already have done well. We're going to blow them away. I'm confident."

* * *

"So you used this to save a premature deer because your friend wanted to get laid?"

"I told you we didn't need to give them a play by play of the entire day," Happy said to Toby through clenched teeth. They stood behind the small table used to display the pseudo – womb. On one side was a computer playing video and a poster containing the abstract for a paper Thomas Beek's student had authored. On their other side was Chana Wolowitz, speaking earnestly to two men who were just as well dressed as Dr. James Ewart, the advisor to the benefactor that stood in front of the Quintis table. The benefactor had required all teams be split up and scattered across various rooms in the hotel, so that the advisors would remember the accomplishments and examples, not a display that happened to be the flashiest.

"Our reasoning and motivations for making the decision to save the deer is not really relevant to the effectiveness of the womb," Toby said. "We succeeded in protecting this animal that would have died otherwise, and we've updated it to be able to accommodate human newborns as well. If you combine it with the oxygen supplier through the blood, which we have already demonstrated the effectiveness of in our famed rescue of the boy at the Zuma Beach – which I'm sure you heard about more when you spoke to my colleagues the O'Briens – it could be a huge and fairly cost – effective alternative to standard NICU practices."

"NICU, sure," said Dr. Ewart. "But the benefactor is hoping to give money to a team that can provide assistance on a more personal level. I'm sure you know that Thomas Beek's integrated pest management practices are practical for the average poor farming family."

"Oftentimes," Happy said, "technology that was once only available to the rich, or to institutions, become fairly affordable and commonplace over time. We have eliminated the very first step of that by creating something that most hospitals and trauma centers will be able to afford. It is one step closer to it being available in every ambulance in the country."

"Cell phones and computers were once unthinkable as household devices," Toby said.

"And many families still cannot afford them," Ewart pointed out.

"No, that is true," he said. "But one thing that I think is important to consider is nothing anyone has brought here has been proven in practice, at least not on a large scale. Thomas Beek's ideas are fairly derivative of what the agriculture industry in the Midwest has been doing since the 1980s."

Dr. Ewart raised his eyebrows. "Resorting to talking down the others' work, rather than having anything additional to say about yours. Interesting."

"I don't mean – "

"No need to get defensive," he said. "I'm here to make observations and ask questions. I assume you were informed of that before you came."

Toby cleared his throat. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you for the information and the demonstration," Ewart said. "I'm sure my colleagues will find this fascinating." He turned, a smile coming over his face when he made eye contact with Beek's student. "Lydia Dirks. How lovely to see you again."

"That could have gone better," Toby said.

"Still so confident that we got this?" Happy asked.

"I'm sure they are questioning all the others just as strictly," Happy said. "They don't want to give the money to just anyone."

"We're not just anyone."

"And that's why at the end of the day, we could very well still be their top choice. We wouldn't be on the short list if we hadn't already been extensively vetted."

Toby smiled. "And suddenly, you're the one convincing me that _I_ shouldn't be so unsure."

She bumped her hip against his. "We're married. We're supposed to pick up each other's slack."

* * *

Paige was extremely impressed with how Walter was handling the questions they'd been hit with over the past several hours. James Ewart had been a real hard ass. He'd been the first of the benefactor's advisors to approach them – although she suspected all of the 'general public' that was attending this event were also somehow connected to the person that would make the final decision. Florence had texted Walter with a warning about the type of questions Séverine Metharom would be asking, and Paige thought she and Walter had navigated their little interrogation perfectly. But then Happy had texted them saying that Metharom had made a comment to them that had implied that the advisor _hadn't_ liked them much after all.

They'd all known this would be difficult, but Paige was starting to realize that as prepared as they might have thought themselves, they might actually be on more of a level playing field with their competitors than they'd thought.

Chana Wolowitz had approached their table minutes ago, and Walter was currently smiling and nodding at something she was saying. Paige narrowed her eyes. Florence said that Wolowitz wasn't someone who would play dirty. But Paige knew she wasn't immune to her old trust issues and suspicious tendencies popping back up again. _Be careful what you tell her, Walter._ The fact that Chana had – apparently for years, according to Florence – been suggesting that Scorpion try to make money off of some of the very accomplishments they were highlighting made Paige all the more suspicious.

"Mrs. O'Brien?"

It was Rocky Vogel. He was reportedly their CEO benefactor's right hand man, although some believed that he was an alias for the benefactor himself. "I see what they're doing," Allie had muttered when she'd been shown photographs of the advisors and of the CEO. "Very _Westing Game_."

"Mrs. O'Brien is my mother – in – law," she said, because she knew Vogel's type would chuckle at that remark. "You may call me Paige."

"Paige is a lovely name. I have to say, I prefer it over Mrs. O'Brien."

He wasn't flirting. But she made sure the hand she lifted to tuck hair behind her ear was the one with her ring on it. "What can I do for you, Mr. Vogel?"

"If we could step into the meeting room for a moment? I've been speaking with the PR leaders for each group we're considering, and from everything I've read, that person is you."

"Sure."

She sat across a card table from him, Vogel's hands flying over his laptop's keyboard while she answered his questions. They started easily enough – he asked her to talk about Scorpion, and she knew her passion for the company came through whenever she discussed it – and slowly intensified until she almost wasn't prepared for the questions he was asking. _Classic tactic. Putting the frog in water and slowly heating it up. _This was the EQ part of the job, and it was supposed to be her wheelhouse. _Breathe, Paige._

"In addition to our hopes that the money will create improvements for humanity in general," Vogel said, "we are also concerned with the likelihood that the team that receives the money remains a cohesive unit, to assure that none of the money will be used for purposes other than which it is intended."

"Well," Paige said, "Scorpion is a family. We are extremely cohesive."

"Your team has had a rocky past," said Vogel. "Steven Royce's law office have all been working together for going on twenty years. Your team has gained and lost members in that time."

"When you say that their team hasn't changed in that long," Paige said, "I hear that they potentially aren't open to new people or new ideas, even though both may add value to their ventures. Scorpion has had multiple people who are no longer with us for a variety of reasons…"

"Including Mark Collins, who was something of a domestic terrorist."

"Also Cabe Gallo, who still works with us in a reduced capacity due to his retirement. I also joined the team later than the others, and Florence Tipton arrived three years after I did. We allow ourselves to grow and evolve and utilize the new ideas that new people have brought."

"You also had a very famous fracture with the current members that, directly or indirectly, resulted in the deaths of multiple people and near death for your husband and Mr. Dodd."

"That was back in 2018. We're a family. We had a rift. It is ancient history."

"I understand. And your record since has been very impressive. Strangely, I see that your son has been very absent from the team's roster since your daughter was born."

Paige set her jaw. "Ralph is an adult. He is under no obligation to continue working for the company and that hardly has anything to do with our unity."

"We have been led to understand that his absence has to do with a situation where an ex – girlfriend of his extorted the team for a considerable sum of money."

"It was money we had earned that did not have conditions attached to it. We wouldn't spend what is essentially grant money on personal matters."

"Of course not. But it does raise questions about judgement, and we'd hate to give all this money to a team that might misinterpret the best ways to help people."

"Any venture has the possibility to fail," Paige said. "That doesn't mean we are any more high risk than anyone else."

"That is a good point to make," Vogel said. "Though if your own son doesn't want to be a part of the team, that raises into question Scorpion's viability for long term survival."

Paige could feel herself getting defensive. _They're questioning everyone just as thoroughly. Don't take this personally. _But they were questioning her son. How was she not supposed to take that personally? _Don't. Don't let them get to you._ "Oftentimes, family businesses can find themselves in muddled gray areas due to family loyalty and family politics. We are _like_ family, but we don't require blood relatives as some sort of way to pass the business on. We can stay a relevant company without any of us having children poised to take it over. When Walter started the company, he didn't think he would ever have offspring. He built it by finding people who needed him and building the company around their strengths. We're the only ones here that have operated that way and I view that as a positive, not a negative. Our successes have been largely due to how different we are from most other companies."

* * *

"You're awfully quiet," Walter commented.

Paige looked up from her pasta. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize when you suggested we get food you were expecting engaging conversation."

Walter put his fork down.

Paige sighed. "Sorry."

"Something is bothering you, Love. I thought you were just stressed from the day, and that dinner together would relax you. But it seems you're somewhere else."

"I miss Amber. We're away from her so much."

"I miss her, too. It's only been the last few months that we've really been extensively traveling without her. Soon she will be old enough to come with us sometimes."

"I just..." she twirled the pasta around her fork. "Growing up...when Ralph was growing up, rather, he was always with me. I saw him every day after work. Sometimes I took him with me to work. We were each other's person. And now...now I haven't seen him in six months."

"He loves you more than anything in the world, Paige," Walter said. "He's just spreading his wings."

"I just never imagined that when he left that May after Amber was born that he wouldn't come back."

"Did someone say something to you today that brought up these feelings?"

"Yeah. Rocky Vogel. He made a comment about how we must not be a cohesive, viable unit because I couldn't even manage to keep my own son around."

"He said that?"

"Not exactly. But you know how it is when people say things but mean something else."

"Hmmph." Water tapped the edge of his plate. "So you're worried that spending less time with Amber at this age will result in a less meaningful relationship with her when she's an adult."

"Yeah."

"That's possible."

"What-"

"I'm sorry, that was blunt. But what I mean is, sure, it might, or she might grow up to be a total mama's girl and we'll be eighty years old still screaming at her to move out and find her own place."

"Or a daddy's girl."

"Or both."

"Both is good."

"Yeah." Walter slid his foot forward to touch hers under the table. "You did nothing wrong with Ralph. Please tell me that you know that."

She blinked, and he saw tears in her eyes. "I miss him, Walter. I miss him so, so much."

"I know. I do too."

"And I just want these next few days to be over so I can go home and hold our daughter. She's just a baby. She's too young to leave."

Walter wasn't the best at reading people, even Paige, even now, after all this time. He would probably never be good at that. Likewise, he thought, Paige would probably never shake her abandonment issues.

Happy and Toby always talked about how married couples picked up each other's slack. The two of them were brilliant at it. Walter thought that he and Paige did well too, at least most of the time.

But this. He didn't know how to help her with this.


	10. Chapter 10

Day two could have gone better.

But, Paige reasoned, it could have gone way worse. She was very confident in her feeling that Steven Royce was probably out of the running now.

That left Scorpion, Thomas Beek and his team, Marcie Lucas, and Chana Wolowitz.

Walter was in the shower, and Paige went to the desk, checking the charge on her phone. Still too low. She sat at the desk chair, pulling her feet up to her chest. She and Walter had spent _way_ too long on the phone with Cabe and Allie earlier.

At least from a phone battery perspective. From an "I miss my daughter so much there's a physical ache in my chest" perspective, Paige thought the call had been way too short.

But Amber wasn't the only person she missed. Paige dialed. She got an answer on the second ring.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hey Ralph."

There was a long silence that Ralph broke. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay, I just…" Paige put her hand up to her forehead. "Scorpion is busy playing politics to get some money, and there's just a lot going on, and I wanted to hear your voice."

"Okay. I have a class in a few minutes."

"Oh. I can…call back."

"No. If I have class in a few minutes, that means I have a few minutes before I'm busy." She could hear a shifting sound and knew Ralph was tucking his phone. "I'll always have a few minutes for you, Mom. Tell me about this benefactor."

Paige realized by the use of _benefactor_ that Ralph already had heard about it. "I don't want to repeat anything Walter may have told you."

"He just told me what it was. I haven't talked to him since you guys got out there."

"Okay." Paige explained the events of the past few days. "We're leaving tomorrow and we won't know the decision for _weeks_, maybe. It's going to be so nerve wracking. One of our competitors says her assistant is going to be doing a real world experiment of her drones in the next few days, which apparently will prove she's capable of saving the entirety of humanity with one launch or something like that. She's grinding our gears. But anyway, what's going on in your life, baby? How are things with Mia?"

"Oh. We broke up a couple weeks ago."

Paige was surprised. Last time she'd asked about Mia, Ralph had gushed about her. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's fine. We're still friends. We just realized we were better that way. I think both of us were a little upset about it at first, but we just hung out day before yesterday and nothing felt weird."

"That's good. And Patty? Are she and Daisy still together?"

"Still as together and disgustingly in love as ever."

Paige gave a little laugh. "That's good."

"Patty says they're still too young, but I wouldn't be surprise if Daisy proposes this year."

"Wow."

"Yeah." Ralph was silent a moment. "How's Walter?"

"He's good. Are…are you asking for a particular reason?"

"No. He just mentioned he had a bad headache, and I know he's gotten them more frequently lately."

"He's stressed. You know how he gets when he feels like he needs to solve a problem and he can't." Paige picked at a loose string on her jeans. It was going to cause a run when she pulled it out, she knew that. But she also knew it was bothering her, so she was going to pull it out. "And I know later this year is going to be hard on him too, with it being ten years since his sister died. Don't worry about him, baby. I'll take care of him."

"You do a good job with that."

"Not to toot my own horn or anything," she joked, "but I know. Well, I'm sure you need to get to class."

"It's okay."

"No, you don't want to be marked late."

Ralph laughed. "No mom, I'm the TA."

"Oh." Paige laughed. "Well, still, if you're fifteen minutes late, they're allowed to leave."

"Ha, yeah. I'll talk to you in a few days, okay?"

"Sounds good. I'm looking forward to it already."

"Because I'll always be your baby."

"You knew what I was going to say next." Paige was smiling. "Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, Mom."

* * *

"Our friendly copilot is not joining us on the return trip, so unfortunately you'll have to deal without a second season of Simon Says," Happy said.

"Can I sit in the cockpit with you?" Toby asked.

"You may. Just keep your hands to yourself. I'm going to be flying through some turbulence again and I don't need your games."

"I'm insulted that you think I wouldn't be professional," Toby said, throwing a wink Walter and Paige's way.

Paige rolled her eyes. So did Happy, but she had a smirk on her face. "Come with me, pervert."

Toby grinned as he followed her into the cockpit.

"Yay, turbulence again," Florence said. "Just what I was hoping for."

"Well, not to worry," Sylvester said. "I have extra motion sickness bags."

"Aw, you take care of me." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Seriously though, I hope you brought a lot. Oh, check it out." She tapped her belly, and Sylvester put his hand over the spot, grinning.

"Ah, we're feeling kicks now, huh?" Paige asked.

"We were pretty sure we could feel them starting two weeks ago, but it's definitely what's going on now," Florence said. Sylvester kept his hand on her belly, looking down at it, and Florence kept her eyes on him, a smile on her face.

The adoring way in which she was looking at him made Paige's heart flutter. She disguised it with a grunt as she looked at Walter. "Mushy stuff, right?"

"You saying you want me to stop looking at you like that?"

She shifted her weight, resting her head on his shoulder. "Absolutely not."

* * *

Paige yawned and stretched. Her and Walter's fingers were threaded together, and she straightened hers, stretching them before curling them back around her husband's. She sat up, craning her neck around to look out the window. There were clouds below, but she could make out mountains.

_Second glass of wine, just over the Rockies. She didn't see the signs, but it was plain as plain can be. Buckle up, here comes love, looks like cupid just showed up. Let him on, let him by…_

The plane jostled slightly. Paige glanced over to where the Tipton – Dodds sat. Sylvester was asleep, his head tipped back against the wall. Florence was laying against him, legs tucked up, head on his chest. She was awake, but didn't appear to be nauseous. Their eyes met, and she gave Paige a small smile.

Paige stretched her hand again, then tightened it around Walter's. He opened his eyes and squeezed her hand back, shifting his weight and grunting quietly. "These seats aren't comfortable anymore," he mumbled.

"Yes they are, you just haven't moved a muscle in two hours."

"Fair."

_I'm calling it off, I'm taking the dog, and don't try to follow. She thinks she's a big star now…_

"What?"

"Hmm?"

Walter gave her an amused look. "You were mumbling something."

"Oh. Song stuck in my head. When I saw the mountains."

"Rocky Mountain High?" Florence asked, her eyes half closed.

"No," Paige said, "though that's much less obscure than where my brain went."

_She thinks she's a big star now; she made the Hollywood round of American Idol. Thirty minutes later she felt sorry for him a little; she moved from her seat on the aisle to the middle. Buckle up…_

A loud metallic sound accompanied the plane lurching to the side, one of the suitcases dropping from the overhead and smashing open. Paige yelped in surprise. Sylvester's eyes flew open. "What – "

The plane corrected, shuddering and dipping but leveling out. Then there was another loud crashing sound, and it tipped dramatically to the side again. Paige held onto the back of the seat in an effort to not go flying. "Walter, don't!" She shouted when he used one of his arms to wrap around her, the hand on the seat back slipping. "I've got it, _you_ hang on!"

"Happy, Toby, what the Hell?" Florence shouted. She and Sylvester were on the side of the plane that the lean was toward, so their concern was the luggage flying out of the compartments on Walter and Paige's side.

"We're being attacked!" Happy shouted. "Something's out there!"

"Maybe it'a a bird?" Paige suggested. "Birds collide with planes."

"It's too big to be a bird," Walter said. "And birds usually aren't made of metal."

"Then what is it? _Happy_!"

"We don't know!" came Toby's voice. "Let her fly!"

Happy's voice came over the speaker. "Just call me Harmon Rabb."

There was a third collision. The plane careened forward, seemingly in a nose dive. Slightly more secure in her seat, Paige's mind immediately went to her husband. He'd had multiple major head injuries in the time she'd known him. He'd been having headaches recently. What if…

"We're going down!" Happy shouted.

"I'm coming!" Walter yelled, getting to his feet just as there was another jostling,

"No you're not!" Paige shouted, her eyes widening in horror as the masks descended from the ceiling. "We're depressurizing!" She grabbed one mask, a fistful of Walter's shirt in her other hand. She knew the protocol. Secure your own mask before helping someone else. She didn't care. She shoved the mask into Walter's hand before grabbing her own and slipping the strap over her head.

"Get in your seats and buckle up!" Toby shouted. "She's going to try to land it in a clearing that's supposed to be up…"

He didn't get a chance to finish. Something else hit the plane, causing a light and roaring sound from the tail end. _Oh, God, _Paige thought. Whatever was attacking them, it had torn the plane open."

_Amber, Amber, Amber…_

She looked over at the Tipton – Dodds. Their masks were on, and they were staring at each other, wide – eyed. His arms were wrapped around her, and hers were curled protectively around her belly.

The plane dropped lower, the incline going up toward the front so steep the fallen luggage was sliding toward the door to the cockpit. The first suitcase hit the door with a loud thud just as there was another impact to the plane.

Paige looked out the window. The mountains were close. Too close. Rushing toward them.

She pulled Walter to her, wrapping her arms around his head, swearing she'd sacrifice herself before she'd allow him to take that kind of impact again.

The ground rushed toward them. There was one, two, three, four large bumps, then a combination of metallic screeches, debris falling, and a loud, long scream from Sylvester.

Then everything went black.


	11. Chapter 11

Walter couldn't see.

Well. That wasn't entirely accurate. He could make out…light…and shapes. Dim light, distorted shapes, muffled sounds. Like he was underwater. Or in one of those fun houses that his sister would drag him to, with those mirrors that distorted your proportions. He should have been fascinated by those mirrors, but they always made him sick to his stomach. Gave him a headache. But oh, how Megan would laugh at their giant oval shaped heads, skinny necks, and hips three times their normal width. Then she would tickle him so he would laugh, too. "Walter, Walter, Walter," she would say, an amused smile on her face when he'd attempt to dart away. "You know you want to laugh. We both know it, little bro."

He could hear his name now. "Walter, Walter, Walter." He could see the mirrors, twisted and shifting. But it wasn't Megan's voice. The sight before him, slowly growing clearer, wasn't the reflections in the fun house. The voices in the background didn't have Irish accents.

Twenty years of memories, temporarily muffled and muted, rushed back to him. Walter sat up, groaning loudly from physical and emotional pain, holding his head. _Megan, Megan, Megan._

"Stay still!" The voice was Paige's. He thought it was hers that had been saying his name just moments ago. "Walter, our plane went down. You've hit your head."

"It could have been much worse," Toby was saying. "Paige kept you shielded from what probably would have been a deadly impact. As is we're at a bit of a concussion risk, but compared to what this head of yours has endured before…"

"Ohhh." Walter pressed his fingers into his forehead. "My head."

"Just breathe, Love," Paige said. "Why don't you lay back? I'd tucked my jacket under your head while you were unconscious."

Walter did as she suggested, easing back slowly. "How are the others?"

"Happy's fine. A little banged up. She'll bruise nicely," Toby said. "I checked Florence over and she seems to have come out unscathed, ditto for Sly though they'll probably be pretty sore. We all will be."

"Simon?"

"He didn't come back with us, remember?" Paige said, brushing her hand over his forehead.

"Oh. Right."

"Is he awake?"

That was Florence's voice. Walter's neck ached when he turned it. She was walking from the rear of the plane, stepping over some of the debris. Walter realized that the plane was torn along the sides and up top, with natural light streaming in – along with branches full of leaves and needles.

"He is." Toby looked at her with raised eyebrows. "You were in the bathroom?"

"Yeah. Nothing's out of the ordinary."

"Good." Toby nodded. He looked back at Walter. "Happy is checking the extent of the damage outside. She should be in any minute."

"That I should be." Happy appeared, crawling through the plane's door. It was only opening about three quarters of the way. "It appears there's a water source about a half mile away. There's an open area – a field – a little farther off in the opposite direction." She frowned and rubbed her neck.

"We could split up," Florence said, giving a similar frown as Happy as she placed a hand on her lower back. "Some of us go get water, some head to the clearing to try and get together materials for a signal fire."

"We have some flares," Happy said, "but the fire would be better, as long as we can contain it with the wind."

"We can gather wood for it," Paige said, "and then wait to light it until it's safer."

"Good idea," Sylvester said. "Then we should probably gather stuff from around here, too, so we can heat ourselves at night. It gets cold in the mountains."

"You know that from your backpacking days, huh?" Florence teased. Sylvester gave a mock glare.

"Well, Walter should stay here," Toby said. "I don't want him even leaving what's left of this plane until we know the extent of his head injury. Paige, you stay with him?"

Paige nodded. "I was going to insist."

"I thought you might."

"I don't think I should go to get water," Florence said. "Chances are I'd slip. And with my back being sore already, it's only going to get worse."

"It seems a bit rocky around the pond," Happy said. "Sly and I should go."

"So that leaves me and Toby to go to the clearing," Florence said. "Good thing I'm wearing my walking shoes."

"Um, no," Toby said. "We're going to check out the immediate area around the plane. I don't want to be far from Walter and I don't want you hoofing it nearly two miles after the accident we just had."

"Probably smart, sweetie," Sylvester said.

Florence nodded. "Yeah, you're right." She smoothed her shirt down. "I've just been feeling so good I get ambitious."

"It's easy to overdo it and not realize until you get in bed and want to sleep for days, only to realize you can't because baby is trying to separate your ribs," Paige said with a laugh.

Walter tried to look at her, wincing at the movement necessary to do so.

"Yeah, Walt," Toby said. "That's going to hurt for a while."

"I didn't break anything?"

"No. Not that I can tell."

"Well, hey," Toby said with a small smile. "I'm going to tell you what a coworker at my first legitimate job said to me once, when I was complaining about losing a large bet: at least you're not ugly or dead."

* * *

"Imagine how many calories we'll be burning hiking all this way only to fill up these few containers we managed to scrounge up from the plane." Sylvester shifted his weight, bending down to scoop the pond water into a rubber hot water bottle. "We will waste away to nothing."

"If we had to stay here, yeah," Happy said. "But you know we won't be. People will be looking for us. The Gallos, when we don't land at the airfield. They love our kids but they sure as heck don't want to raise them. And we couldn't have gone much off the flight path. We'll get spotted." She handed him a half gallon jug full of water.

"You're right. Of course you're right." Sylvester took the jug and set it next to the other full containers. "I just worry. You know how I worry."

"That I do." Happy smiled. "It'll be fine, Sly. We all came out of this relatively unscathed – except for Walter, that is. It's just a waiting game now. The worst part of it will be trying to get comfortable to sleep with all our bumps and bruises."

"I think there's a bone bruise on my ass."

"Unfortunate." Happy bent and scooped water into one of the plastic bottles that had been in their bags. "All of these are Dasani. You'd think it was product placement or something."

Sylvester laughed.

* * *

"We could just use this field, couldn't we?" Florence asked.

Toby shook his head. "I don't think it's big enough to be able to keep the fire away from everything else. Happy says there's rocks in that field that we can use to build something of a pit."

"Oh, true," she said. She got quiet. "Do you think Walter will be okay?"

Toby sighed. "He's had several bad head injuries since I've known him. But he's responding the way we want him to. He _should_ be okay."

"Good." She nodded. "When I saw him out like that…it gave me flashbacks."

"Thankfully, not nearly as serious this time."

"Do you think we'll be here long enough to have to eat bugs like Simba the lion?" Florence asked. Her foot kicked at a downed tree. "There's probably some grubs in here."

"I hope not, though they would certainly attend to our protein needs." Toby handed her the armful of twigs he was gathering. "You carry the lighter stuff. I'll drag the branches." He noticed a large downed tree a few yards ahead. Jogging to it, he spotted a branch, an inch or two thick, that he thought had been weakened enough to take it off. The tree was old enough it probably wouldn't be green wood. He could break that.

"Toby?"

He turned. Florence was sitting on the log, staring between her knees at the ground, where the twigs lay in a semi discombobulated pile. Toby cocked his head. "…yeah?"

"Um…" she raised her head to look at him. "I don't know what a contraction feels like. But something just happened and it hurt."

Toby abandoned all thoughts of the downed tree. At Florence's side in a second, he dropped to his knees in front of her. "Where did it hurt? What happened?"

She let out a long breath. "My back was hurting earlier. And it was like that, but this time…" she placed a finger on her belly and made a circle motion. "Everywhere. All around."

"Where was your back hurting? Specifically?"

"Like…my tailbone? In there?"

Toby let out a breath. "Okay. I think we shouldn't panic, but let's start walking back to the plane, yeah?"

"Okay."

Toby shifted his weight until he could slide his arm under her shoulders to help her to her feet. He wished he could assure her nothing was happening, that she was mistaken. But as she shuffled along with him, a tense look on her face, he doubted she'd believe him even if he felt confident enough to provide such reassurance.

They were a little farther from the plane than he'd thought – maybe an eighth of a mile. That wasn't _far_, but…

"Toby," Florence said, stopping and hunching over slightly.

"Does it hurt again?" He asked, keeping his arm where it was to support her.

Florence was breathing heavily, her hand on her stomach. "It does," she wheezed. "Oh God, no."

"Breathe," Toby said. He looked toward the plane. "Paige!" He shouted. "Paige!"

* * *

"I really am starting to feel better," Walter said. "I mean, I have the headache. But I know what the bad signs are when it comes to head injuries, and I've had so much worse ones."

Paige was sitting in the chair beside him, her legs over his lap as she held the makeshift ice pack to his head. Bless the freezer holding the ice for staying closed in the crash. "Good," she said. "But I'll feel better when you're looked over in a hospital. This wreckage is not an ideal spot to have a medical emergency."

"_Paige_!"

Paige and Walter both jumped as Toby hopped through the door. "Paige. Have you gone deaf?"

"What?"

"I've been calling you."

"…why?"

"Florence is in labor. I can't get her in here by myself. Can you come out and help, please?"

"Oh no." Paige jumped up, making sure Walter had a hold on the ice pack. "I thought she was okay!"

"I thought so, too. She spotted a little after the crash, but she's been spotting very lightly and very occasionally through the whole pregnancy. No one has ever been concerned."

"Are we _sure_…"

"I'm a doctor," Toby snapped. "And you knew it when you were having contractions, didn't you?"

"Fair enough," Paige said, following him out the door.

Florence was kneeling on the ground about twenty yards from the plane, hands pressed on either side of her belly, her cheeks puffing out as she exhaled. "It's so uncomfortable," she said as they reached her. "God, this is the most uncomfortable I've ever been."

"Come on," Paige said, taking one of her arms while Toby took the other. "Let's get you inside."

"We have a first aid kit," Florence said. "There should be something in there."

"Not that's safe pain medication for someone in labor," Paige said. "But don't worry. We've all done this before."

They shuffled toward the plane, and upon reaching it Paige hopped up through the door, reaching out to help guide Florence through it. If she'd been nine months pregnant, or if she wasn't so small, it might have been difficult getting her through it. Thankfully, she managed to re-enter the plane with limited difficulty.

"Okay," Toby said, "this spot is cleanest, and we already have the sheet and padding for your head down here from when we were working on Walter. Florence, lay down right here. Paige? Come support her upper body." Toby was businesslike, but Paige could sense the urgency in his voice, and she knew that that meant Florence could too. "Baby is on their way. Try to stay as relaxed as you can."

"No. No. I'm not even twenty – four weeks," Florence said. "She can't come. You have to put a stop to this."

"We have no betamimetics in the first aid kit," Toby said. "And you've had three contractions in less than ten minutes, meaning your labor is precipitous. There isn't any stopping this, Florence, I'm sorry."

"It's too early." Paige put her hand on Florence's back as the chemist's voice became more shrill. "Toby, you have to stop it."

"Florence," he said gently. "You know I can't."

"Let's get you laid down," Paige said softly.

"No! I – oh God." Florence leaned against Paige and panted harshly. Paige rubbed her back, mumbling in a low, reassuring tone. When the contraction passed, Florence allowed Paige to lower her to the floor of the aircraft.

"Walter," Toby said. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better."

"Good. We need your help. Fetch the pseudo womb from the compartment, please. We need somewhere to transfer the little one to once they're here."

"She can't come yet," Florence said, tapping Paige with her finger. "She can't come yet."

"I know," Paige said. "I know. I know you don't want her to. But she is."

"No, Paige." Florence grabbed a fistful of Paige's shirt. "No, she can't. Where's Sylvester?"

"Here it is," Walter said, reappearing with the device in his arms. "Generator?"

"Yes." Toby took off the stethoscope, grabbing antiseptic from the first aid kid. "Florence, your heart and Baby's hearts sound good. I need to examine you, though, okay? Is this okay?"

Florence nodded.

"Okay. Lift your hips so I can ease these off." Toby put the chemist's yoga pants aside. "Okay. Seems things are moving quickly. I know this is unexpected. I know you're scared, but just try to stay calm and we'll get through this, okay, Florence?"

"Ow," Florence moaned, twisting her upper body toward Paige.

"I'm right here," Paige said, tightening her arms. Even at almost six months pregnant, Florence felt small in her arms.

"Sly, I want Sly."

"I know," Paige said. "I know you do. He and Happy should be back soon."

"No," Florence said. "Animals can prevent their babies from being born if they feel unsafe. Maybe…"

"Florence," Toby said quietly, "I'm sorry. You can't stop this. Fighting it will make it worse."

Florence's voice was small. "She's going to die, isn't she?"

"Florence, try to stay calm," Toby said. "That will help your baby's heart rate. She'll have the best chance that way."

Toby's switch to the pronouns that Florence was using for the baby was not missed by Paige.

Florence started to cry. "She's going to die and her daddy isn't even here to say goodbye."

"Florence," Paige said, shifting her weight to help the laboring woman remain somewhat upright. "Toby is the best there is, you know that. We save everyone, remember?"

"Not…" Florence took in a deep breath. "Not Lane."

Paige and Toby's eyes met. "That wasn't us," she said. "That was Scorpion 2.0. This is Scorpion. Scorpion doesn't fail."

"My water broke," Florence gasped. "It's too early. It's too early." Halfway through the third repetition, she groaned again, turning her head back into Paige.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Paige said. "Just breathe through it. I know it hurts. But it doesn't last forever, just remember that." She tightened her arms around the chemist as she moaned again, her teeth clenched together. Paige could feel her shirt grow damp with Florence's tears.

"She's going to die," Florence said, her voice cracking.

Walter dropped to the floor next to the two women, one of his knees missing her hand as it pressed against the sheet by mere inches. "Listen to me, I know in many cases the notion of 'thinking positive' is simply ridiculous, but here it can assist in a safe delivery. Relaxing will ease the pain as well as your pelvic floor."

"Walter is right," Toby said. "And steady breathing will help the oxygen flow to the baby. We're going to try and ease her into the world, nice and slowly."

"I agree," Florence said. "For another few weeks." She shifted her weight, her nails digging into Paige's skin.

"Breath, Florence, breathe," Paige said. She glanced toward the door, hoping to see the others. "Can someone like…go find Sylvester? She's been asking for him."

"Who is going to do that?" Toby asked. "Is there an extra person here I'm not seeing?"

"She wants him here."

"Please don't talk to me in the third person," Florence said. "I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," Paige said, opening her mouth to repeat that someone should find Sly, but not being able to get a word out before Florence made a gagging sound. "Florence, are you okay?"

"I'm gonna…" Florence rolled onto her side, away from Paige, and as her shoulders jerked Paige heard the tell – tale signs of vomiting. Walter, kneeling on the floor near her head, grimaced and scooted backwards.

"Florence!" Paige rolled her back over, propping her up and brushing hair back behind her ears. Florence was coughing, vomit stuck to her lips. Paige, being the mother of a toddler that she was, pulled her sleeve over her hand and wiped it off without a second thought.

Walter was slightly less composed about the vomit on his knees.

"Get her settled," Toby said. "Baby will be here very soon. Try to relax, Florence. Stress isn't good for the baby."

"_This_ isn't good for the baby!" Florence snapped.

Toby was frantically fiddling with the dials on the pseudo – womb. Paige propped Florence up, her back against Paige's stomach, her body between Paige's knees. She held the smaller woman close, her lips near Florence's ear. "We're right here, Florence. We're right here with you."

"I'm scared, Paige."

"You'll be fine, leg," Walter said reassuringly, taking her hand. "You'll be fine."

"She isn't talking about scared for herself," Paige said. Walter saying _leg_, seemingly out of nowhere, made Paige take note that one of Florence's legs was visibly trembling.

Florence's body tensed up and she moaned, her hand squeezing Paige's wrist. Her moan turned into crying, full body crying, accompanied by a sound Paige could only describe as _mournful._ Paige had made that sound before, twice, most recently seven years ago after she'd broken up with Walter.

The first time was when the heart monitor attached to her father had flatlined.

Paige knew this sound. It was the sound of hopelessness, of agony, not of physical pain but of emotional distress so seemingly impossible to conquer that it _felt_ like physical pain.

Florence didn't believe her baby would live. She was already mourning.

"We've got you, Florence," Paige said, for lack of any other ideas on what to say. "We're right here. We love you so, so much." Years had passed since saying those words to Florence felt strange or ironic. She _did_ love her, so did Walter, so did Toby and Happy and Cabe and Allie. Not in the way Sylvester did, but that didn't matter. They'd do anything for her as much as they would for each other.

She'd nearly died to save them once, after all.

"Paige," Florence whimpered, curling her arms around one of Paige's as it kept her still against Paige's chest. The knuckles on her other hand were white as they clutched Walter's hand like it was a lifeline.

"Okay," Toby said. "When baby gets here, she's going straight into this womb. Don't give up hope, Florence. She has about a twenty percent chance. That's one in five. You know how many times we've beaten odds so much worse?"

"That's in a hospital," Florence said. "We're not in a hospital. We're stranded in the middle of the goddamn _woods._"

"Hey." Toby raised his eyebrows. "We're still going to _try._"

Florence nodded only a moment before tensing up, her body seemingly going completely stiff in Paige's arms, her nails digging into Paige's skin. "_God_…"

"Keep breathing," Toby said. "Don't stop breathing. Get that oxygen to Baby. Make it easier on yourself, too."

"I wanted a water birth," Florence said. "Perhaps…perhaps I should have gone to the lake."

Paige smiled at her attempt at a joke.

Time blended together – Paige lost count of how many times Florence moaned, turned her cheek against Paige's chest. How many times her leg trembled so badly it was all Paige could focus on. Not too much time could have passed – Sylvester and Happy weren't back yet – but it felt like forever. Paige seemed stuck in time, frozen in that moment when Florence had given that mournful wail.

She realized she too, for all her reassurances, didn't believe the baby would make it.

"Almost here," Toby said, snapping Paige back to the present. "Your body is taking control, Florence. Let it happen. Push _gently_."

Florence nodded. Paige watched Toby.

"Good," the doctor said, "good. Okay, okay!" He moved slightly, but Paige couldn't see what he was doing. "Okay, now…" Toby moved his hands. "Good job, Florence. Baby is here. You did it. You did so well."

Florence was still moaning, almost too quietly to hear, and she suddenly felt heavier in Paige's arms. "Florence?" she asked. "Florence, how do you feel?"

"Is…" Florence asked of Toby, still breathing hard. "Is…"

Toby was focusing on the tiny being in his hands, a being Paige couldn't even see. She watched Toby's face for clues. "Toby," she said after what felt like an additional forever. "Toby, say something."

Toby was still silent. The silence in the plane was the loudest silence Paige could remember. Then, Toby spoke. "Alive."

"Oh, God." Florence put a hand up over her eyes, her body shaking again as fresh tears escaped her. "Oh, God."


	12. Chapter 12

**So…sorry I wrote a chapter as intense as the last one and then disappeared, but I've spent the last two weeks going nonstop in the horse racing industry, and since the Kentucky Derby was yesterday and I slept 15 hours today, I finally have the time and energy to update.**

* * *

"Someone get towels," Paige said, realizing that if she didn't snap to, no one was going to – and by no one, she meant her husband, as Toby was busy with the newest addition to what was left of Air Scorpion. "Don't make her lay in all this mess."

"Where are we going to get towels?" Walter asked. "We're in the middle of the woods."

"Last time I checked, we had towels in our luggage. They don't need to be clean to mop up amniotic fluid and vomit."

"Ugh," Florence moaned, shifting in Paige's arms.

"It's okay," Paige said, brushing her hair back over her forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Weak," Florence said. "Things still kinda hurt. Toby, what's going on with my baby?"

"I've got Baby hooked up to the ventilator," Toby said. "And I've got it all toasty warm in there. We're as stable as we can be in these conditions. Birth weight seems to be slightly over one pound, which is a good sign, considering." He reached over and rubbed Florence's leg, which was still trembling. "I know you know there's a long road ahead and we have to get out of here and back to a hospital," he said, "but at least from first impressions, it seems she has everything going for her."

Walter returned with the towels, dropping to his knees. "Toby," he said moments later, "she's still bleeding, it appears." He gave a worried glance at Paige and Florence. "I wasn't, like, _looking_…"

"Walter, no one cares," Florence grumbled irritably.

"Yeah," Toby said in a voice that was low but betrayed his concern. "Yeah…"

"Toby?" Paige asked.

"Florence," Toby said, his voice back to the cool, professional tone, "early deliveries can increase potential complications for the mother as well as the baby. There are also certain things that are more likely if the mother is over thirty. One of the situations that is more likely in _both_ those scenarios is the retention of the placenta."

Paige glanced at Walter at the same time he glanced at her.

Toby continued. "It is possible that you still might pass it naturally, but your baby is almost twenty minutes old now and concern begins after a half an hour. You haven't had any more contractions?"

Florence shook her head. "No. I hurt but…but not like that."

"How do…we fix it?" Walter asked.

"Treatment for a retained placenta is, simply, to get the placenta out. Sometimes, you can do it…manually, but given that we aren't in a sanitary environment, I don't feel comfortable attempting that."

"Can't you just pull on the cord?"

"In some cases, yes, gently, but the cord is very thin," Toby said. "If I tried, it would likely break, and if it broke too far inside her, we would then have nothing. The problem is I don't have any of the hormones that we would inject to stimulate the process, either. Florence, you don't have to pee by any chance?"

"No," she said. "I used the bathroom before we went out to get sticks."

Toby bit his lip. "Baby is too small to breastfeed, and your milk probably won't come in for days, anyway."

"So what do we do?" Paige asked, her voice shriller than she'd expected.

"We hope it comes out on its own, and we hope that we're found fast."

Toby didn't say _or we'll lose them both_, but he didn't need to for Paige to know that was how his sentence ended.

There was a sound from outside. All four adult sets of eyes moved in the same direction.

Walter got to his feet. "I'll tell them."

* * *

By the time Sylvester got into the plane, it was obvious Paige and Toby had made some effort to prepare him. Florence was propped up against one of the seats, a blanket covering her from the waist down. Paige was kneeling next to her, but once she saw Sylvester, she got to her feet, putting a hand on his arm briefly before joining Walter outside.

"I'll leave you two alone," Toby said, "but I'll be up in the cockpit if you have any questions."

"Lori," Sylvester said, his voice sounding airy. He dropped down next to her. "Oh, sweetheart."

His hand found hers, and their fingers linked together as Sylvester pressed his lips to her forehead. "Walter didn't tell me much," he said. "Just…just what happened."

"It's a girl," she said quietly. "I haven't seen her. We had to put her right in the womb."

Sylvester drew in a deep breath through his nose. He wanted to cry, to apologize for not being there with her, to be angry at himself that he wasn't. Only one of those things wouldn't be harmful to the woman he loved who had already been through so much. "I'm sorry I left you alone."

She gave him a small smile. "I wasn't alone."

"They were all with you?"

"Toby delivered the baby. Paige held me, and Walter had my hand. I wasn't alone, I promise."

Sylvester lifted their hands and kissed hers. "I'm still sorry."

"I know. It's not your fault." Florence bit her lip. "Sylvester, if we don't get out of here…"

"Happy and Walter have gone for the clearing. They said they'll get help if…if it's the last thing they do."

"I said…" Florence took in a few breaths. "I said I was scared. When it was all happening." She shook her head, tears springing back to her eyes. "Well, it's still happening and I'm still scared."

Sylvester settled in next to her. "So am I."

"It's you. That's nothing new." She gave him a light jab with her elbow.

"Hush." He smiled.

Florence leaned her head against his shoulder. "Sly, did Walter tell you the placenta hasn't come?"

"He did."

"If it doesn't, I could keep bleeding. Get an infection. And if we aren't rescued, I could die."

"Floren – "

"Don't tell me not to talk like that. It's facts." She squeezed his hand again. "And so I don't want you to interrupt me with 'you can tell me later,' or 'don't do this' or any of that bullshit. Because all I'm going to say is I love you, and I love our baby, and that's something I would say anyway. Okay?"

"Okay." Sylvester was quiet for a long moment. "I love you, too. And I love our baby, too."

"Good." She kissed his shoulder, and then put her head back against it.

"How _do_ you feel?" He asked. "I mean like, despite the whole…"

"Like crap."

"Oh, okay."

She gave a little laugh. "You know I'm a very candid, _oh ow_." She tensed up, placing a hand on her side.

"Contraction? Placenta? Florence?" Sylvester's heart began racing all over again.

She relaxed back against him. "I don't know what that was, but it didn't do anything." She looked at him. "You probably want to go in the cockpit with Toby and see her."

"I'm not leaving your side, Lori."

"_I_ want you to go into the cockpit and see her."

"I shouldn't see her before you."

"Why does _that_ matter?"

"Bec…no, you're right. But you're sure?"

She nodded. "I need to talk to Paige about something anyway."

"Okay." Sylvester got to his feet. "I love you. And I'm just saying that because I'd say it anyway."

She smiled again. "Right back at you."


	13. Chapter 13

"This is so stressful," Paige put her hands on her head and walked in a small circle, the forest floor crunching under her feat. "I don't know how to help. I have all these…_feelings_ that I cannot channel into anything and…" She gave a frustrated groan, tugging at her hair as she spun around again.

"Paige, I know you know more about people than me," Walter said, "but I do remember all the times you told me to distract myself if I was spiraling, and you seem to be giving off the signs that would suggest you need the same advice."

"There is nothing that could feasibly distract me right now."

"What do you _want_ to do?"

"I _want _to have sex, but I don't think that's very appropriate."

"Not particularly, no" Walter said, "although it's not like we haven't used that particular form of comfort before."

"True," Paige said. "Though I'm sure I'd feel icky about it afterward, when we got to thinking about Florence and that baby and how they're in there scared for the future while we're off doing it like rabbits among the rabbits."

Walter sat down on a tree stump. "Come here."

"Walter, I just said I don't think we – "

"No, just come here."

Paige did, easing down onto his lap with her feet pointing off to his left. He put his arms around her, kissing her shoulder gently.

"I just keep seeing her leg shaking," Paige said quietly. "I know that's an odd thing to focus on, but once you brought it up in there, it's all I could think about. I can't shake the image and it's scaring me, even though that by itself isn't what's terrifying about all this."

"I brought it up?" Walter asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You did. Do you not remember?"

There was a long, long silence. "Huh. I don't."

"Guess you did hit your head a little too hard," she said, offering up a weak chuckle. "Ugh, this wasn't supposed to be dangerous. This wasn't even a _mission_, not really. And yet here we are…clinging, like we always do."

"We've gotten out of worse before."

"And we _always_ say that like it's a guarantee we'll get out of this."

"And why shouldn't we? If the alternative is giving up?"

Paige glanced off to the side. Bushes. Trees. Cover. "Alright, come on," she said, hopping to her feet and grabbing his hand. "Classiness be damned."

"Paige?" Sylvester popped his head out of the airplane.

_Dammit,_ Paige thought, before reminding herself that she'd just been debating the appropriateness of dragging Walter off into the woods. "Yeah, Sly?" She asked, "is everything okay?" Letting go of Walter's hand, she jogged toward the plane. "Sly?"

"Yeah, uh, Florence says she wants to talk to you…about something?"

"Oh. Sure." Paige glanced back at Walter, who was nodding at her. "Kay." She hopped up onto the step and crawled back into the plane.

* * *

She didn't look like a baby.

That was Sylvester's first thought, although he caught himself, refraining from blurting it out loud. But the tiny being in the pseudo – womb, temporarily illuminated by the little light, didn't look like any baby he'd ever seen. Her skin was red. Her eyes weren't open. They weren't capable of opening. She was wrapped in a blanket, more like a wash rag, but Sylvester could see all her veins in her visible skin.

She didn't look like a baby.

"She's not supposed to be viable at this stage," Sylvester said. "I know there are exceptions, but…"

Toby put his hand on Sylvester's back. "A lot of hospitals wouldn't resuscitate at this age," he said. "Most of the time, that would just prolong suffering, anyway."

"Neither of us would want her to suffer," Sylvester said quickly.

"I know. I didn't mean…I didn't have to resuscitate her, Sly. She stayed with us on her own."

Sylvester nodded. They stood in silence for what felt like a long time. "I uh…" Sylvester said, "I don't really know what to expect."

"It will be a lot," Toby said. "But again. One step at a time. There's little that will change here and now. It will be about the hospital care once we get out of here."

"I want honesty, Toby."

"She…she could be blind. Or deaf. Or both. She could remain oxygen dependent. She could have cerebral palsy or diabetes or any number of other things. We'll know more once we're rescued and get her to a hospital."

"W – what if we don't?" His lower lip was trembling. He tore his eyes away from the womb and looked at Toby. "Oh God."

"We'll make everything as peaceful as we can for her," Toby said. "But no need to cross that bridge yet. You know this womb recreates the conditions of her mother's uterus much closer than anything in your average hospital, especially with the modifications we made. We'll get her…to where we need to get her."

"As long as we're rescued."

"Sly."

"I know. It's just hard…to process."

"Everything about the past few hours have been hard to process," Toby said. "But it's important to focus on positives. Florence and your baby are both perfectly fine for now."

"For now," Sylvester said. "That's the key. _For now_."

* * *

"What do you need, Florence?" Paige asked, kneeling down next to her.

"The placenta…nothing's happening. I had a pain, but…"

There were tears in Florence's eyes. Paige reached out and squeezed her wrist. "It still could."

"My baby doesn't need it anymore. My baby isn't in there anymore. So it's just like…it's just started rotting inside me and…" Florence gagged, a hand up to her mouth. "Oh God…"

Paige reached for the motion sickness bag she knew was wedged between the seat and the wall, shaking it out and handing it to Florence just in time.

"Thanks," she said with a cough, rolling up the top of the bag and setting it next to her. "It's not quick, you know. Bleeding out, that can be quick. This…it's an infection. It happens slowly."

"That isn't going to happen to you," Paige said. "Maybe there is something else we can try."

"There is, sort of," Florence said. "I mean, a baby this premature can't breastfeed. But you can hand pump yourself, right?"

"I…don't think they call it that," Paige said. "But yes."

Florence bit her lip. "Maybe if I do that…"

"The placenta might come that way?" Paige cocked her head. "I mean…maybe? I don't know."

"Can you tell me how to do it?"

"I know how. But I've never had to do it this way. Mine always came in before birth, even with Ralph. But I've pumped before, so I'm familiar with it, at least." Paige got to her feet, walked to the door of the plane, and peered out. No one was in sight. She moved to the door of the cockpit. "Knock knock," she said. "I don't want to come in, but both of you stay in there for a bit, okay? We've got girl talk out here." On the muffled responses from inside, Paige gave a satisfied nod and returned to Florence, kneeling back down. "Massage them. That can help for when you really stimulate. Tiny circular motions all the way around."

Florence nodded, shifting her weight and pulling her sweater over her head before beginning. "I don't know if this is going to work," she said.

"It won't hurt to try." Paige put her hand on the smaller woman's shoulder. _And it might hurt not to._

"Also…sorry," Florence said sheepishly, vaguely gesturing to her exposed skin.

"Oh, Florence," Paige said. "I am not fazed by breasts. I do own a pair myself, you know." Cracking a grin, she got down to instruction. "When you're ready to try and express…" She placed her hands on one of her own breasts, over her clothes, as an example. "Like this. Twelve and six on the clock. But don't pinch." She patted Florence's leg. "There you go. It might take a little bit since this is your first and she wasn't full term."

Florence was biting down on her lip. As the minutes passed, she was growing clearly frustrated. "This isn't going to work," she said eventually, exasperated. "I certainly won't get enough to cause contractions."

"You don't know that. That's why we're giving this the old college try."

Florence's eyes were welling up again. "I'm not doing this right, am I?"

"Maybe try it a little more nine and three?" Paige asked. "Clock, nine and three on the clock."

"You told me twelve and six!"

"Yes. Now try it nine and three. You've got multiple milk ducts, and if you move around a little bit…"

Florence stopped, putting both hands up to her face. "I'm not getting it."

"It sometimes takes a while, especially first time mothers. And especially when you have someone like me trying to explain it, and not a professional. It's hard to explain when you just sort of…have done it."

Florence dropped her hands to her lap. "Can I ask you something really awkward?"

Paige lifted her chin slightly. "You want me to help?"

There was a silence, then a tiny nod as Florence stared at her hands. "Could you? I know it's weird."

Paige put her hand on top of Florence's. "Do you know what a group of Scorpions is called?"

"A nest. But Walter says it's called a cyclone."

"It doesn't really matter what it's called, I suppose. But the important thing about them is they stick together. They will do whatever it takes to make sure the others are safe."

"That's not right either. Most scorpions are solitary and prefer to be by themselves."

Paige sighed. "Okay, but you understand what I'm getting at, right?"

Florence, in spite of herself, gave a little laugh. "I do. Sorry."

* * *

Sylvester sat in the pilot's chair, his feet up resting in the copilot's spot. Simon, with all his jokes, had made their flight out east amusing much more than annoying. Would they have crashed if Simon had been here on the way back? He knew this plane. Maybe he would have been able to do something.

Or maybe not at all.

Sylvester had always had a love hate relationship with what ifs.

He shifted his weight. He was holding the womb – he couldn't actually hold the baby yet, but this was an alternative, cradling the warm dome that was keeping his and Florence's daughter alive.

It would run, without power reinstated to the plane, for seven days.

They needed to get out of here before that.

Toby was back out in the passenger cabin, on Paige and Florence's request. "Don't fret, Sly," Paige had said when she'd come in, pulling Toby aside and speaking quietly to him. "You stay with your daughter. We will manage out here."

Sylvester looked down into the womb. In an effort to recreate the natural darkness a twenty four week old fetus would have, the womb prevented him from seeing clearly into it. All he could make out was a vague shape that was his daughter, and the little green lights on the side that showed that her vitals were where they needed them to be. He cleared his throat, his voice soft and quiet. "_When you smile, I fall apart, and I thought I was so smart…my father wasn't around. I swear that I'll be around for you. I'll do whatever it takes; I'll make a million mistakes…_" He chuckled. "Maybe I shouldn't keep going. It might distress you to learn that I'm not the singer that Paige is. Although, to be fair, most of us aren't the singer Paige is."

"Did I hear my name?"

Sylvester looked over. Paige was leaning around the threshold, a small smile on her face. "You did," he said. "I was apologizing for not having your talent in the lullaby department." Concern grew over his face. "How's Florence?"

"Well," Paige said, "as you were given news of the birth in a less than exciting fashion, let me try a little here." She stepped into the room, making grand gestures with her hands before striking a pose. "I am happy to announce that we have a complete placenta. Congratulations, Mr. Tipton – Dodd."

He smiled, a gasp of relief escaping his body in a shudder. "Oh, thank God." He got to his feet, clutching the womb. "I need…she needs to…"

"Yes. Come on. Come on." Paige held the door, gesturing for him to go through it.

Sylvester saw Florence still laying on the ground, this time flat, her head cradled by a jacket, and her knees up and apart. Toby was kneeling by her feet, scrubbing the floor with a rag. Next to him was a Tupperware container with a cloth over it.

"Lori," he said, reaching her side.

She looked up. "Sylvester. Is she okay?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"I think I will be. Now."

"Can you sit up?"

She shook her head. "I feel a bit weak again. I might get light headed if I try to sit now."

"Okay. Well…" Clutching the womb so hard his knuckles were white, Sylvester managed to lower himself onto his knees. "I'm going to put her…so you can hold her…" He settled the womb on her stomach, reaching for one of her hands and bringing it up against it. "There. There she is."

Florence's hands rested against the sides, shaking slightly. "Oh, Sly, I'll let her slide right off."

"No you won't." He brushed her hair back. "You won't hurt her. You're her mother."

* * *

**I'm taking my mom to see Waitress tomorrow for U.S. Mother's Day, and then I should have a full week with almost nothing to do, so hopefully I can get some reading done (I know, a rarity these days for me I'M SORRY) in addition to a couple writing updates! I do apologize for the lack of updates here recently. As I've said before I've been busy, but my cousin and his wife welcomed their daughter prematurely around the time I was due to post the chapter where Florence gives birth, and it was a little too "current events" close to home for me to work on this for a bit. Their baby is doing super well though, so thank the stars for that.**


	14. Chapter 14

"Did I ever tell you about how I dated a girl when I was nineteen who thought that 'sun's out, guns out' meant 'sunny weather is perfect weather to shoot someone?' So she was always horrified when people said that."

"You did not tell me that," Toby said, handing her the water bottle he'd grabbed from the cockpit. "Did you enlighten her?"

"I wanted to keep it going on as long as I could because it was amusing to me," Happy said. "But I ruined it almost right away because I couldn't help being like – "

"That's not what that means, you dummy," Toby finished the sentence right along with her.

Happy chuckled. "Yes." She craned her neck around to look at the dimming light.

Toby smiled at her. "Hey Florence," he said, leaning forward in the seat to look around his wife. "How are you feeling?"

Florence was still on the floor, lying on her side now, propped that way in the same way she was shielded from the actual floor of the plane – with every article of clothing that they had serving as a makeshift sleeping bag. "Tired," she said, shifting her weight. "Weak."

"You need to keep some food down," Toby said.

"I can't. I'm throwing everything up." Florence grunted, and Sylvester rubbed her back gently.

"You can go longer without food," Toby said, "but we really need to get some fluids down you. Your body could be trying to fight something. Baby wasn't delivered in sterile conditions. Anything you can keep down will help."

"Thanks, Toby," Florence said. "Now that you've mentioned that, I'm sure I can magically stop retching."

"Can we make an IV with anything?" Paige asked.

"We don't have anything," Toby said. "We only have the basic first aid kit to work with and the only stuff in there that hasn't been used is the epinephrine and turkey baster. If someone gets stung or needs a wound flushed it's in the cockpit with the womb, but beyond that, we're screwed." His watch beeped – his ten minute reminder to check on the baby. Toby headed back toward the cockpit.

"We shouldn't have taken this plane," Sylvester said. "We shouldn't have been so stupid."

"This plane should have been capable of getting us back," Paige said, "and then none of this would be happening. What on _Earth_ hit us?"

"A drone of some kind, probably," Sylvester said. "Theoretically, drones can take out planes. It's one of the concerns the public has about them. But I don't know how plausible that is yet, at least ones that aren't military, plus this sounded like more than one and the average person – "

"Marie Lucas," Happy said, sitting straight up in her seat.

"Marcie Lucas?" Paige said in surprise. "Easy," she soothed when Florence grunted again and shifted her weight.

"Yeah. One of our competitors."

"I know who she is," Paige said. "She was doing work with drones, but I don't think…they were for good."

"Yeah. Knocking meteors out of the sky. Saving the planet by preventing a mass extinction."

"She said she was going to try something, prove…prove how powerful they were," Sylvester said. "Am I remembering that right?"

"Yeah," Happy said. "This is her fault. I'm sure of it. Either her or some wacko in the wilderness trying to take out planes."

Paige shrugged. "Honestly considering the stuff we've seen, I'd put the same odds on both."

"Happy?" Walter popped his head into the plane. "It's time to hike."

* * *

Sticks, twigs, logs, no matter what the official name was for pieces of wood that used to be trees, they had them on the pile. Walter glanced around, eyeballing the distance between what they'd gotten together and the trees that lined the clearing as he slung the container of jet fuel they'd siphoned from the plane. Jet fuel didn't light as easily as gasoline did, but it burned hotter when it did. They were dead center in the clearing, as far away from other flammable materials as possible. "This is still a risk," Walter said. "We'll have to calculate wind speed and direction to determine when it is safe to light. And hope we're able to get to the clearing _to_ light it if we see a plane."

"I've got the matches," Happy said, "thanks to Toby's obsession with hoarding the free stuff that the hotels give out. I'll stay out here until someone comes by, even if it's days from now." She sat on the ground, crossing her ankles. "I've been out in worse. Remember Antarctica?"

"Happy, there is…wildlife…out here."

She raised her eyebrows. "It's a calculated risk, O'Brien."

"I'll stay out here with you."

"You really don't have to do that."

"I know. But isn't most of the things people do things they technically have an option on?"

Happy looked at him for a long moment. "Okay. Fair."

"It's getting dark," Walter observed.

"No shit, Sherlock." Happy immediately dropped her eyes. "Sorry. Defense mechanism."

"You don't have to explain that concept to me, of all people."

"Are you okay?" She asked, raising her eyes to his again. "You banged your head pretty hard."

"I have a bump," Walter said. "But I'm okay. Do I appear to be functioning at a lower level than usual to you?"

"No. I mean, not in any way that isn't explainable given…everything." Happy held onto her ankles. "Why is it always her?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know. She almost dies because of the jellyfish. Then she's in the coma after that explosion. And now this. I know we've all had some stuff but it feels like everything just keeps coming back to her."

Walter sat down across from Happy. "We've all had our share. Not that that makes it better."

"I used to hate her, you know."

"I know."

"Paige said that she told her once that back when we were two teams, she wondered if she was just a bad apple, destined to ruin things. It's stupid, but it feels like she's being punished. That she'll always be punished for things that really weren't her fault. That the universe hasn't forgiven her for 'ruining' us, even though we ruined us just as we fixed us again. Or maybe it's just that life isn't fucking fair."

"That would seem more logical," Walter said.

"It's crazy how sometimes it's just hard to let go of things," Happy said. "I think part of me still feels bad for the way I treated her."

"You were being protective of the rest of us," Walter said.

"I was also being a coward. I was afraid of change."

"Sometimes it's good to be reactive, if you've been screwed over enough. It's a defense mechanism."

"It's not always a good one."

Walter nodded. "No, you're right. It's not." The wind picked up, flipping the collar on his shirt out of place. He smoothed it back down.

"I've been working on it. That's really the only way to ensure I don't fall back into that place."

Walter was getting the sense that Happy just needed to talk. That was something he could understand. "That seems like a good strategy to me."

"What's that?"

"Your strate…" Walter trailed off as he heard what Happy was hearing. They looked skyward, jumping to their feet, Happy catching Walter by the wrist and steadying him as he wobbled. "It sounds like a helicopter."

"There!" Happy pointed.

Walter spotted the lights a moment later. "It's coming this way," he said. Glancing around, he bit his lip. "The winds…it could carry the fire." Forest fires could burn thousands of aces. There was most certainly private property somewhere within that range. Possibly innocent hikers. And certainly lots of wild animals. This was only safe for all of them if the fire could be contained.

"This could be our only shot to save the baby," Happy said. "We're in the middle of nowhere. And what if Florence has some sort of infection? _We _can last rationing food and eating bugs. She can't."

"Who has been eating bugs?"

"Not the point right now, O'Brien."

Walter felt his stomach tighten. Every instinct he had was telling him it was a bad idea, downright dangerous, to light the signal fire. But the helicopter… "Us," he said, feeling sick, "versus the Greater Good." He turned to Happy, expecting to see the same stormy conflict in her own eyes.

Before he could react, she lit one of the matches and threw it on the pile.


	15. Chapter 15

Florence didn't remember much about the rescue.

She did remember the shaking, the rumbling of the helicopter as it took off. She was only minutes removed from the hard floor that she had laid on for the past two days, and the sensations of being in a moving aircraft again almost scared her, even though that wasn't supposed to make sense.

She remembered crying when she thought that Sylvester wasn't going to be able to come with her.

She remembered asking if the baby was okay.

Beyond that, the ride back to California was a blur, a hum and a light and people talking in low voices and the feeling of Sylvester's hand in hers.

She could tell when they reached the hospital more from the smell of sterilization than anything else. When she opened her eyes and Sylvester told her what day it was, and what time, she was torn between being shocked and totally believing it.

"Did they say what's wrong with me?"

"You have an infection due to delivering and then remaining in an area that hadn't been sterilized," Sylvester said. "You've been given enough antibiotics to heal a small country, and they're confident that you're on the mend."

"Are the others back?"

"I think so. Cabe and Allie had taken the kids and gone to Colorado to aid in the search efforts, and they're on their way back now. The plane that's taking the others home should have beaten them by several hours."

"That's good."

"Happy very nearly burned the whole forest down trying to save y – us. She and Walter managed to keep it under control. It was pretty interesting actually…"

"Sly, I appreciate the small talk, but I really just…need to know."

A long silence followed. Then Sylvester cleared his throat. "We'll know more about her in the morning," he said, squeezing her hand.

"What do we know now?"

"Almost nothing. Except that the womb is certainly the reason she's alive. The conditions inside it are so similar to the human body, with the exception of no amniotic fluid, of course. The specialists were very pleased with it, said it would certainly make the little one's job easier."

"We need to name her," Florence said.

He nodded. "We hadn't really talked about that."

"There wasn't time."

"Yeah."

"You, uh…" Sylvester licked his lower lip. "You called her something when we were getting into the helicopter. You asked if she was okay, and if she was coming with us. But you used a name. Do you remember what that was?"

Florence bit her lip. She did. Now that he mentioned it, she did. She shifted her weight, flexing her fingers against Sylvester's hand. "I called her Tilly. I don't know why."

"I like it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. And I looked it up – it's usually short for Matilda, which means 'strong in battle'."

Florence wrinkled her nose. "Now I think it's a cliché and I don't like it."

"Wait, really?"

"No." She gave a little laugh. "I mean, meanings of names aren't my thing but I still…something had me like it."

"What about a middle name? We'd need to offset the Ts."

"Ugh, Sly, I just had a baby, I'm too tired to think about middle names."

He smiled. "I can see you're feeling better."

"A little."

"It's something."

"Yeah."

"The others want to visit you as soon as you feel up to it. Obviously not today since they're still getting home and everything, but…"

"I want to see them." _I need to see them._ The more awake Florence felt, the more the weight of everything that happened – and everything that would happen going forward – and she needed her friends. The Florence of five years ago would have withdrawn. But she wasn't that Florence anymore.

* * *

Bert, Simon's father and the owner of the plane, met them at the airfield.

"We are so sorry about your plane, sir," Paige said as soon as they were all back on solid ground. "We –"

Bert held up a hand. "We are working on finding out who was responsible for the crash. From what I've been told, it was not your team. My understanding may change if the investigation reveals you _were_ at fault, of course, but as of now I'm channeling my anger toward whoever owned those things that knocked you out of the sky."

Paige glanced around, toward the sole building in the immediate vicinity. It appeared relatively deserted. She looked the other way. Just the field, the strip, and the treeline.

"We will be able to provide a detailed incident report of the incident," Walter said. He frowned. "I said incident too much there, didn't I?"

"Where's Cabe? Allie? Where's my baby?" Paige asked. She realized her voice took on a higher pitch when she mentioned Amber. But _I thought they were going to meet us here._

"Not here – but don't panic. When the plane didn't land, he immediately went to look for you. Him and Allie and the kid are in Colorado. Or they were. They'll be back in a couple hours." Simon gestured to the building. "There are two apartments in the basement if you want to stay there and wait for them to land."

"We'll take you up on that," Toby said, glancing at Happy. "We're exhausted and could use a few hours of sleep."

"Absolutely," Bert said. "The apartments are small and not fully furnished, but there's a bed and running water and that should do for the short term." He looked at Paige and Walter. "You want the other one?"

Paige nodded. "Thank you."

Bert got them the keys and handed one to Toby and one to Paige. "Just drop them through the mail slot when you leave, okay?"

"Thanks," Paige said. "We appreciate it."

"Thank you," Walter echoed, shaking his head and clearing his throat.

Paige looked at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just…jet lagged."

"It was a two hour flight," Happy said.

"I'm fine."

He seemed fine, at least once they got inside. Paige smiled when he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck, assuring her, even though she already knew, that Amber would be with them again soon. "I know, Love," she said, hugging him back as best she could when her back was against his chest. "I just miss her so much."

"I know. I do, too. Maybe she will have made progress on her ABCs while we were gone."

Paige sighed inwardly.

She'd called Ralph on the flight home – he already knew she'd been missing, and she learned that when he answered the phone with "God, Mom, I'm going to be gray by the time I'm twenty – five."

"You have good genes. I'm thirty – nine and I don't have gray hair."

"Don't tell me all of that color is natural."

"It is!"

Well, most of it was. There was that one streak, an inch thick, that had basically gone white shortly after Amber was born that Mahkynzeigh – and yes, that was seriously how it was spelled – did an excellent job of matching to the rest of her hair every four weeks. And back to Ralph, Paige supposed for all they knew, Drew could be totally gray by now, at forty – one. She really had no idea.

"Here's an idea," Walter said, bringing her back out of her memories of the phone call, "we trade this mattress for the one in our bedroom."

"You will never let that go, will you?" She asked. "It is _not_ that bad." She climbed onto the bed next to him, fluffing a pillow.

"It is absolutely that bad and you know it. It was almost an improvement to sleep in that plane chair."

Paige grinned, scooting over to his side of the bed and straddling his hips. "We've got a few hours. Now we can distract ourselves like we wanted to in the woods. But this time without worrying." She gave him a flirtatious smile and bent, kissing the side of his jaw before moving to his neck. She could feel his hands come up to rest on her thighs, but otherwise he remained still, staring up at the ceiling. She lifted her head. "You already seem pretty distracted."

"Hmmm?" His eyes flickered over to meet hers. "Oh. Sorry. Come here."

She put her hand on his chest, stopping him from pulling her back down. "Walter, are you feeling okay?"

"Yes. Come here."

"You don't want to. It's okay."

"No, I do. I just need to get out of my head is all."

"If there's another way you'd like to do that, I'm all ears," Paige said. "I just thought you – "

"No," Walter said, "no other way. I promise." He sat up, sliding his arms around her and linking his fingers at the small of her back. "Nothing is better than being with you."

She knew he meant that. But she also knew he was lying to her. _It's okay if you're tired or just not feeling it._

She opted to not say that out loud. She was too damn stressed to give him another lesson. "Look," she said, swinging her leg back over and laying on her back next to him, "let's get some rest in before Cabe and Allie bring Amber back. That's what we really came in here to do anyway."


	16. Chapter 16

**Shorter chapter - I've been working both a 10 hour day job and 8 hour night job every day for almost a week and I am _so_ tired.**

* * *

Happy popped her head into the room. "Hey. Are you guys ready?"

Sylvester looked over at Florence, who was nodding in Happy's direction. "Yeah," he said, "we are."

"Okay kids," Happy said. "Don't run."

Ellie didn't run – but she barely contained herself, high stepping over to the opposite side of Florence's bed from Sylvester. Tad was right on her heels, holding Amber's hand to direct her. When they reached Florence's side, he let go of her hand and put his hands on her shoulders.

There had been debate, over the past two days, over how much, if anything, to tell the three Scorpion minors. Paige and Toby had been in favor of shielding them, but Happy and Walter argued that a simplified version of events would be better to ease them into whatever the ultimate outcome was. If Tilly came home, they would need to explain her presence, and if she didn't, Tad, at least, would be old enough to remember that Florence was pregnant and nothing came of it. Once Happy had brought up how upset Tad and Ellie were when Florence was in a coma while Paige was pregnant with Amber, Paige and Toby had agreed that telling them a watered – down version was the best option.

All three children had wanted to see Florence. And two days after arriving at the hospital, her infection was under control and she was beginning to feel better, so it was arranged.

"Do you remember when the others came to visit you?" Sylvester had asked, referring to the visit of the adults the day before.

Florence had shaken her head. "Not really. But I do remember smelling Paige's perfume."

None of the kids were wearing perfume, but Sylvester was confident that she was much more alert today. She would remember this.

"Are you fine?" Amber asked, jumping up and down in an attempt to see. Florence reached out her hand, giving the girl something tangible. "I'm fine, Amber. Don't let the hospital scare you."

"Is your baby fine?" Tad asked. He had morphed from a loud, rowdy child to much more of a quiet and reserved one. Sylvester – and, he knew, Tad's parents – credited the arrival of Amber with the change. Ellie came too quickly after Tad for him to have developed the need to be a role model for her, but he'd been in school already when Amber was born, and as she grew, became mobile, and started learning, he took his role as Older Cousin very seriously.

"Yeah," Sylvester said, giving him what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "The baby is fine, for now. She is very small, though."

"Momma said she was born very early," Tad said. "Is she going to be okay?"

"We hope so. Things look good so far, considering everything."

"What if she's not?" Ellie asked, looking at Florence. "What if she's not good?"

Florence and Sylvester exchanged glances. Happy opened her mouth to say something, but Florence beat her to it. "We are hoping to not have to confront that," she said carefully.

"If she dies, can you have another baby?"

"Ellie Quinn!" Happy snapped. The children shared the same hyphenated name as Happy, Quinn – Curtis, but she shortened it when she was angry. It was the opposite of what parents typically did, but the short, sharp effect worked well on Ellie and Tad. "Apologize to Aunt Florence and Uncle Sylvester for being rude."

Tad gave his sister a hard nudge. "What if someone had asked if your stupid Barney doll was going to die?"

"I just asked if she can have another baby!" Ellie said, looking upset. "Maybe something's wrong with her tummy!"

"Ellie," Florence said, "I can have another baby. Nothing is wrong with my tummy."

"Good," Ellie said, biting her lip.

"Ellie," Happy said again.

The girl looked over at her mom, then dug the heel of her shoe into the linoleum. She turned back to the Tipton – Dodds. "I am sorry."

"Thank you, sweetie," Sylvester said.

Amber was still clinging to Florence's hand. "When can she play?"

"The baby?"

"Yes." Not for a while, Amber," Sylvester said. "She can't even go home for a while."

Amber wrinkled her nose. Florence squeezed her hand. "I'm sure she will love to have you play with her once she's ready."

"Can we see her?" Ellie asked.

"Not y-et," Sylvester said. "She's in a special part of the hospital."

"Why?" Amber asked.

"Because she's so small," Sylvester said.

"I'm small."

"Not that small," Tad said. "You're not a baby."

"You were a baby in a zillion years," Ellie said.

"Okay," Happy said, clapping her hands together. "I think it's time we head out."

Ellie and Amber shouted their goodbyes to Florence and Sylvester and darted toward Happy and the hallway immediately behind her. The mechanic's eyes narrowed. "No running!"

Tad didn't follow. Standing awkwardly beside the bed, he rubbed his foot against a scuff mark, then took another step closer. He looked at the ground, his teeth closed around his lower lip.

"Hey," Florence said, scooting over closer to Sylvester. "Come up here, Taddy."

His eyes lit up. Removing his shoes, he carefully hopped up on the bed and laid on his side, his head on Florence's chest. He remained quiet even as she slid an arm around him. "It's okay, little guy."

"Okay," he said quietly.

Happy stepped back into the doorway, seemingly about to call Tad over, but she stopped short at the scene in front of her. She glanced at Sylvester. He smiled and waved her away.


	17. Chapter 17

**WELL I wasn't expecting to go this long without an update, but here we are, I guess. I've been in a bit of a mental funk.**

**I was also hoping to finally update Just Enough on Sunday (because that's 6/9 in the U.S. and you know, nice) but wow it turns out I really fucking hate writing smut (shocker) so…it's still coming (ha) but I don't know about Sunday.**

**Anway.**

* * *

"We can keep you one more night – "

"No."

It had been just that long of a conversation, once Florence learned that she could go home if she wanted. She hated hospitals. She'd spent too many days of her life in them already, and if she had the option to spend tonight in her own bed, in her own home, eating the food she wanted, well, she was going to take it.

She'd be fine.

When they got back to their place, Sylvester went to put their things away – bless him, he hadn't left the hospital the whole time she was there, alternating his time between her, Tilly, and getting fitful bursts of sleep. While he unpacked, which she knew meant meticulously sorting and putting anything clean away rather than just throwing everything into the hamper or dropping it on the floor.

She still dumped everything in one spot when she unpacked. So he usually did it. They supported each other.

She eased herself down on the couch. She knew she had to go to bed, but she'd spent so much time in a bed lately that she just wanted to sit in front of a television and not have to worry about knocking IVs out of place or accidentally pressing a call button.

She turned on the television. An old game show was on. Perfect. Nothing violent, nothing scary, nothing that required too much thought. Just good old multiple choice trivia and simple calculations of risk versus reward.

She didn't realize how tired she was until her eyelids began to droop during a commercial. She knew she should get up, she'd be sore later if she fell asleep like this, and she was sore enough already. But it was so relaxing to be in her own home. Home was familiar. Home was comfortable and safe. And she'd rather watch these old 80s trivia shows than whatever soap operas were on at the hospital, so...

"Lori. _Lori_."

She jolted awake. "No whammies!"

He raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, frowning. "I must have dozed off."

He smiled. "Come on," he said gently, holding out his hands. "Let's get to sleep. We can go see Tilly first thing in the morning."

"Maybe we shouldn't have left her." Florence was suddenly wracked with guilt. She went home. Her baby was still at the hospital, machines and wires monitoring everything she did, other machines and other wires helping her do the things that the other machines and wires were monitoring. Who was she to bolt home as soon as the doctors reluctantly gave her the okay?

"No," he said, "there's nothing we can do for her tonight. You know that. It's better for you if you're back home."

"I know. I just…"

"I know."

"Glad I have you to keep me logical," she said with a small smile, taking his hands and letting him pull her to her feet. "Hug me?"

He did, and she felt him kiss the top of her head. "Bed?"

"Yeah."

They walked down the hall, turning right to go into their room.

Sylvester stopped suddenly, and when Florence gave him an odd look, she noticed him staring at the wall next to the doorway.

The photo wall. Ten weeks, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…

Florence couldn't help but scan the line. Sixteen, seventeen, weeks eighteen and nineteen she'd worn the same top without realizing it until after, twenty, twenty – one, twenty – two…and twenty – three.

Today was the day they would have taken another. Because as of today she would have been twenty – four weeks pregnant, and they said that they wouldn't be late with the photo again, way back in week twelve.

Florence walked over to the week twenty – three photo. She studied it, her hands resting on her belly. She looked almost exactly the same as she did seven days ago. Visually, there was no progress. And there wouldn't be.

She wouldn't ever have the bump that sat up and out, like when kids would stick basketballs under their shirts to play house. Her ankles wouldn't swell. She wouldn't feel every tiny movement, know every second when the baby was asleep or awake.

She was supposed to still be pregnant. She was supposed to have her daughter with her right now, safe and warm and growing. Instead, Tilly was six miles away, fighting for her life.

Florence didn't realize she was crying until she felt Sylvester's arms around her.

* * *

One way that Amber one hundred percent took after Paige was her ability to fall asleep to certain people's voices, if they had that lulling ability, be it narration of a nature documentary or, as Amber's grandma would put it, "that one about grisly murder."

Thankfully tonight's lullaby was a penguin show narrated by Morgan Freeman, so Paige didn't have to question her parenting skills while letting her toddler doze off to Forensic Files. Granted, a penguin did die, but Amber was sound asleep long before the whole circle of life concept was addressed. Paige carried the girl to her room, placing her stuffed animal well within reach should she wake up and be afraid.

"Should she really be alone?" Walter asked when Paige returned to the living room.

"Who?"

"Tilly."

Paige sat down next to him. "She's in the NICU. She's not alone. People are checking on her constantly."

"People. Not us. None of us are there."

"We wouldn't be able to see her right now anyway. We aren't her parents, and it's almost ten o'clock at night."

"We shouldn't have left her." Walter sounded almost agitated. "She's family."

Paige swung both her legs sideways across his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. "I'm worried about her too, Walt. But there's nothing we can do tonight. Sylvester and Florence are at home, too."

"Which is even more why someone else should be there." He sighed. "I just hate the idea of her being miles from us. She's still supposed to be with them."

"I know." She was supposed to be growing inside Florence, getting stronger, more developed, more _prepared_. "But considering, she's in wonderful shape. You know that. And I know thinking positive is so much more easily said than done, but sometimes it's the only thing you can do to feel any level of sane."

"You can get into that mindset so much more easily than I can."

"No," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "I'm just better at pretending."


	18. Chapter 18

Amber sat on the floor in front of Walter, her knees bent and ankles crossed in an attempt to sit criss cross like he was. She was staring at the bright yellow rubber ducks that he had sitting on the floor in between them. "Duck."

"Yes. Good job. Ducks."

"Would be more encouraging if she didn't call every bird a duck," he said glancing over to where Paige sat, at the little table by their living room window while she worked.

Paige smirked. "Ducks! Ducks, Amber! Quack quack!"

Amber giggled, flapping her arms. "Quack quack quack!"

"That's right. Smart girl." Paige went back to her laptop. Amber grinned at Walter.

"Any luck over there, Mom?" Walter asked.

"Allie sent an e-mail with attached photos of the fragments Cabe and his contact found. It does appear to be a drone that hit us. But they won't know more, or from where, until they can find the rest of it."

"Hmmm." Walter glanced down at his daughter, who was pressing her finger down on one of the ducks. "Do you know how many ducks there are?" Walter asked. There were three, sitting next to each other facing the toddler.

"Ducks," Amber said, pointing.

"Yes," Walter said. "Yes, they're ducks."

"That's right, Amber," Paige called, "you keep Daddy in line. Make sure he keeps his ducks in a row."

"I didn't know I married Uncle Toby," Walter said to Amber.

"Uncle daddy."

"That's not how it works," he said. "This isn't Arkansas, Amber."

"Oh boy," Paige said, "now I'm the one that married Uncle Toby."

"This is getting weird, so I'm going to proceed with playing with my daughter," Walter said, "who I did not have with Toby Curtis."

Paige chuckled. "No, you most certainly did not."

"Okay, Amber," Walter said. "We're playing a game called How Many. Do you know what that is? It means I'm going to ask you how many ducks are here. Okay?"

"Okay."

There were four yellow ducks between them. Walter pointed. "One? Or more?"

"More."

"Good." Walter smiled. He added two more rubber ducks. "One? Or more than one?"

"More."

"Good girl." He held out his hand. Amber smacked it. She had become a fan of high fives. "Now." He took the two ducks back. "How many?"

"How many," she repeated.

"One or more than one, Ambie?"

"One."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"One, or more than one?"

"More."

Walter narrowed his eyes slightly. "Are you sure?"

"No."

He sighed. "Amber, can we focus?"

"Walter," Paige said from her desk, "she doesn't have the attention span of an adult."

"It's just been a couple minutes. You know that toddlers can focus for a couple minutes. That's why time outs are the same number of minutes as you are years old."

"Yes, but…"

"You're not the only one who knows how to parent our child," he said shortly.

"I didn't say that."

"I didn't say you said that, I'm only saying that…"

"No," Amber said, her face crumpling. "Mommy Daddy no."

"We're not fighting, sweetheart," he said reaching for her. Amber flinched, leaning away. Walter looked at her in alarm. "Ambie, Mommy and I aren't yelling. Promise."

"Pomise?"

"Yeah, promise. Come here, lovie."

Amber crawled over to him and he hugged her close to him. "It's okay, it's okay."

Paige got up from her work space, crossing the room and dropping to her knees next to Walter. "Come on, group hug."

* * *

Tilly was very still.

It made sense. She didn't have the muscle development that a full – term baby would. But just because something made sense didn't make it comforting. Florence felt sick looking into the incubator.

"Hi, Tilly," Sylvester said, his voice quiet. "I'm glad your ears are working. Probably. Maybe. Ahem. But you're old enough that it's possible you hear us, anyway. It's Dad and Mommy."

"Not Daddy and Mommy?"

"As glad as I am that Happy has banned Toby from referring to himself that way in a different context, I still kinda…" he shuddered. "What society has done to that word is a travesty."

Florence gave him a small smile.

"Tilly girl, I'm sure you're used to our banter." Sylvester gave a deep sigh. "We wish we could spend more time with you. But you need to grow and get strong and the nurses…"

"The nurses are the best at doing that," Florence finished.

"Yeah." When Sylvester glanced at her, Florence smiled again. Puttig his hands together and rubbing them slowly, Sylvester gave another sigh. "I'm terrible at talking to her."

"No you're not. You did a great job talking to me."

"I updated you on everyone's lives. She doesn't know any of them. She doesn't know anything. I could read from the phone book and she wouldn't know the difference."

"So maybe we should just talk to each other in front of her. Like we would if I was still carrying her." The last two words came out differently as Florence fought the urge to cry. As is, the nurses _were_ best equipped to care for Tilly. But _she,_ Florence Tipton – Dodd, was the one who was _supposed_ to be doing it. Tilly wasn't supposed to be born yet. All these milestones they were sitting around waiting for while she lay nearly motionless in the incubator were supposed to happen within the safety of Florence's body.

"I like that idea," Sylvester said. "So yesterday Happy was reading me an article about…"

"Do you think she really can hear us?" Florence asked. "Or maybe she's deaf. Sly, what if she's deaf?"

"Then she's deaf, and we learn how we can communicate with her, and we proceed. Deaf isn't a bad thing."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I'm saying if she can't hear us, she has no idea we're here. We can't hold her. We can't touch her. Not yet, anyway. She got put into this big scary world early and now she doesn't know her parents are right here. She might be scared. I know they can't really distinguish fear until they're older but they can be stressed and overwhelmed and…"

"Stressed and overwhelmed," Sylvester said. "Just like her mom."

"Like you aren't both of those things, too.

"I am. You know I am."

"Sorry. It's just so much. So much to think about."

"I know. I just think we have to focus on one thing at a time. Her making it day by day, week by week. Any health problems she has, we will do our best to make sure she has the best quality of life possible."

"But that's the thing, Sly. We _can't_ just worry about one thing at a time. We have to plan for the future. What if she has lifelong health issues and we _aren't_ prepared to help her? What if she…" Florence's eyes widened. "What if she's not able to survive without assistance? What if needs constant care and something happens to us and we aren't there for her and then she ends up in a situation like that woman from – "

"Florence," Sylvester said. "Trust me, my mind is going at light speed. I guarantee anything you're thinking about, it's crossed _my_ mind about fifty times. Okay? We will get through it. But we _have_ to take this one day at a time. If we let ourselves get lost in everything, we'll go out of our minds."

"But life doesn't hit us one day at a time," she said, wringing her hands. "It's not like the brain damage will be like 'oh hey, we were going to get really bad but since you're currently dealing with debt and vision problems we'll just hold off until you're better equipped to handle it' or 'oh we're Tilly's respiratory system and we were going to have a severe asthma attack but since her mother just died in a nuclear reactor we'll just be healthy instead.' Things hit people all at once. And we have to be ready for that."

Sylvester put his hands on her upper arms and kissed her forehead. "I know. Trust me. My brain is doing everything you're doing, but silently."

He wasn't making a joke about how women didn't know how to shut up, but Florence bristled at the word choice anyway. "Okay. I'll just be quiet."

"No, I didn't mean that. I just mean we're thinking the same things."

"She can't hear us."

"We don't know that."

"No, I mean she can't hear us like this. We sound tense and upset. That will make her worse." Florence looked at the monitors. "Look. Her heart rate has changed. And her blood pressure, is that thing measuring her blood pressure?"

"Those changes are barely noticeable."

"But they changed. Nurse. Nurse!" Florence said, startled at how shrill her voice sounded. "Nurse, something's wrong!"

Two nurses, a man and a woman, rushed over immediately. "Okay, Tilly," the man said, "let's just get a look at you."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Florence said, her voice quieter but still louder than she'd like. Tears were springing to her eyes. Her baby was so tiny. So red. So still.

"Slight variation," the woman said quietly.

Florence couldn't see Tilly, or what they were doing. She saw the man turn toward them, looking up at Sylvester, and she realized her husband was standing behind her with his hands on her arms. He was speaking to Sylvester, and then she felt her body being turned and headed out of the room.

"What's the matter with her? She said, whirling to face him as soon as the door was closed. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing, you were just…"

"Oh God. I was making a scene."

"No, you were just upset. It's okay."

There were tears in his eyes, too, but Florence saw the reassurance there that she was looking for. "Then why…"

"Stuff fluctuates. You know that."

"Right." She nodded. "Right." She dropped onto a bench that was sitting in the hallway, putting her head in her hands. "It's not like me to react like this. I can usually keep it together."

Sylvester sat next to her, opening his mouth to speak, but continued before he could do so. "Thank you. You help." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I love you, Sly. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," he said, sliding an arm around her.

"Kiss me," she said quietly, before leaning in and kissing him. He shifted his weight, allowing him to kiss her back properly, and she curled her fingers around his shirt to keep him close. Kissing him was comforting. _This is Sly. This is your husband. Your other half. You're his wife. His Everything – To – Me._

"I love you," she whispered again in between kisses, her eyes hot from the tears. When they broke apart again, she dropped her head, her forehead on his shoulder. She started to cry.

She was crying because she was sad, scared, and overwhelmed. When the nurse came to tell them that yes, Tilly was fine, she kept on crying.

For the same three reasons.


	19. Chapter 19

**Whoops, dropped the ball on reading and writing again.**

* * *

The Crank – Miller petting farm was always a favorite location for a Quinn – Curtis family outing, and Happy was especially excited about taking the kids on this particular day. Things had been gloomy the past week, and not even the best of Toby's magic tricks could put much of a smile on their children's face. Ellie could be distracted by a change of scenery. Tad was a slightly different story – he needed a direct distraction for himself. At the top of the list of things he did was distract his little sister.

Happy watched as Ellie patted the shoulder of an animal while the employee watched and smiled.

"What's her name?" Ellie asked.

"This is Mollie," the girl said. "She's our oldest alpaca, as well as the one who has lived with us the longest."

"Does she have a baby?"

The girl bit her lip. "Well, she's had them in the past. Not this year."

"Did it die?"

"Oh, no, just older animals often don't have as easy of a time becoming pregnant…"

Ellie started to cry, shaking her hands and then putting them up over her face. Tad rushed to her. "Ellie," he said, "what sound does that goat make?"

"Blee," she said quietly through her hands.

"What does a cow make?"

"Moo."

Looking uncomfortable, the worker moved away, putting a smile back on her face as she approached another family. "Hi there! Come to see our mamas and babies today, have we?"

"Good boy, Tad," Happy mumbled under her breath. She stepped closer to her children. "Isn't it so nice to see Mollie having a nice retirement at the place she's lived for so long? That's very nice, isn't it, Ellie?"

"Did her baby die?"

"No," Happy said, although she honestly had no idea. "No, she probably is just too old to have babies, just like some people."

Ellie looked from her mother to Tad, then bit her lip and walked over to another pen. "Can I go in with them?"

"Just remember what we talked about with the goats, baby," Happy said. "Close the first door before opening the second. Sheep can escape too."

"I'm worried about her," Tad said when Ellie entered the pen and squealed with delight as a couple lambs approached her.

"About your sister? It's sweet of you to be worried, Tad," Happy said.

"She's worried about Tilly. She talks about her a lot."

Happy nodded. "I know. But we have to try and keep her mind off of it. You're doing a wonderful job of helping her."

Tad crossed his arms, staring down at the ground. "It's good the longer she's okay, right? The longer there aren't any problems?"

There had been problems. Problems that were entirely to be expected with how early she had come into the world. But Tad didn't know about them, because they had been handled. "Every day that she's still okay is a good sign, Tad," Happy said.

Tad took his mother's hand. "You and Dad worry, too."

"We do," she said. "We're just better at, adults are better at distracting themselves or fixating on something else. It's called compartmentalizing, if you want to get really technical. But basically it's just our way of handling things." She squeezed Tad's hand. "When you get big, you'll get better at it. To be honest, it kinda sucks too. It's what we call a no win situation."

She and Tad looked over, startled, at another shriek from Ellie. A lamb had knocked her over. She was laughing as she put her hands on its forehead. "See?" Happy said. "Sometimes it _is_ better to be a little."

"I'm not very little or very big," Tad said.

"That's true, Taddy," Happy said. "You're stuck in the middle." Not quite old enough to push something completely out of his mind, and not quite young enough to forget about the little girl in the NICU just because a little baby sheep was nosing him. Maybe Tad had it the worst of the Quinn – Curtis clan.

"Hey," Toby said, approaching them with a drink carrier. "I got us slushies."

Happy watched as Tad solemnly took one, thanked his father, and sat on one of the chairs, slurping in relative silence.

* * *

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven floors up. And…

Walter counted carefully, right to left, looking for window twelve. That was, by his and Sylvester's calculations, the window that was closest to where baby Tilly lay in the NICU. They'd figured it out the previous night, when he, Paige, and Amber had accompanied the new parents on their visit to their daughter.

Tonight, Walter was here alone.

Florence had gotten, to use her words, "worked up" the past two times she'd visited, and she and Sylvester had agreed it was probably better for her to stay home the next day and get some extra sleep. Walter didn't know for sure, but he suspected Toby had given her something to help her in that respect, since the feeble milk supply she and Paige had managed to create in the plane had disappeared almost as quickly as it'd shown up and therefore she didn't need to worry about medication endangering Tilly.

So, the Tipton – Dodds were at home, hopefully asleep. Walter had only told Paige he was going out for a drive to clear his head, an idea that she'd encouraged. "Just be careful of your speed," she'd told him with a playful wink combined with a look that told him she was in fact serious. After his awful car accident in the first year they'd known each other, and considering frustration and despair had been the factors that had resulted in him being in a place to be hoodwinked by a deer, and his subsequent head injuries, Walter knew he couldn't blame Paige for being worried about him.

But he wasn't driving like a mad man tonight, or even doing anything dangerous at all. He was simply sitting in his car, watching Tilly's window, feeling better for being there even though she had no idea anyone was watching at all.

He sipped his water. This was the same hospital his sister had died in. His sister. Sylvester's first wife. The one who very well could have been the mother this baby, if things had happened differently.

None of them, Team Scorpion nor the hospital, could have saved Megan. Walter could have done nothing differently, not focused more on his research, not spent more time with her in her last few months, nothing. He couldn't do anything for Tilly, either. He couldn't even properly visit her.

But he could do this. Sit outside, as close to the smallest and newest member of Scorpion as he could. Put out every effort, like he'd failed to do for Megan the last fall she was alive because he'd been in denial. Because he'd been scared.

He couldn't be scared this time. Sylvester and Florence were feeling that enough. This time, his job was to be strong.


	20. Chapter 20

**It's astonishing, in the bad way, how long it takes me to write a chapter nowadays. I'm working 60 hour weeks yes, but they never used to tire me out this much. (I also have something going on with my arm that I can barely move it but it doesn't bother me when I type so I can't make that excuse.)**

* * *

When Florence awoke, her heavy eyelids and achy body gave her the impression that she hadn't been asleep for long. And yet, when she grabbed her phone – and deleted all 27 notifications with one swipe because the last thing she wanted to do was be social – she saw it was already nearly noon.

She wanted to just roll over and go back to sleep. But that wasn't like her. She needed to be busy. If she slept, she would be even more behind when she woke up.

She wasn't sure what exactly she would be behind on. But she still felt like she would be _behind_.

"Sylvester?" She asked as she walked into the hall. There was no response, but she could hear him shuffling around in the kitchen area. "Sly, you let me sleep for too…" she trailed off upon reaching the kitchen and surveying the scene ahead of her. "What…is this?"

He chuckled. "Flowers. What does it look like?"

"It looks like the Mojave Desert threw up all over our kitchen."

He chuckled. "Yeah…they came from three different florists. Six of these are from the same one."

"Who are they all from?"

"Some people whom Scorpion has helped…" Sylvester parted some leaves to find the next tag "Sommers, Elia…looks like some of our competitors, too, Thomas Beek, Dr. Ewart…oh, Aimee! That was sweet of her."

Florence turned, leaving the kitchen and sinking down on the couch in the living room, pulling her knees up to her chest.

"Something wrong?" He asked. "I mean, other than…" he added when she raised her eyebrows.

"Everyone's sending flowers like it's a funeral."

Sylvester grew quiet. Then, "I don't think that's why they're sending them, Lori."

"No one sends flowers for a happy occasion."

"Yes they do. Birthday, Mother's Day, Wedding, Anniversary, Easter, Secretary's Day…"

"Okay. Fine. But they don't send them to _us_ on those days."

"Florence," he said softly, "they mean well."

"Yeah, it's just the whole concept of…w_hat?_" She snapped. "The door," she clarified when he looked at her in alarm.

Sylvester headed for the door with a curious look on his face. Florence wondered if it would be another mess of floral decorations, but the person on the other side wasn't a delivery person; she was someone very familiar to them. "Oh, hey, Allie," he said.

"Hi, sweetheart," Allie said with a smile. She was carrying several large bags. They did not appear to contain flowers, and Florence breathed a sigh of relief. "Hi, Florence. How's Tilly?"

Florence bit the inside of her cheek and didn't answer. Allie didn't seem to notice, heading for the kitchen.

Sylvester followed closely behind. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but…what are you doing here?" Allie never showed up without Cabe.

"I'm here to cook," Allie said. "I would be here to clean as well, but I know you prefer to get that done your way. So I've bought a bunch of groceries and I'm going to transform them into meals, because I know both of you often forget to eat, and you've got to keep your strength up."

From her spot on the couch, Florence smiled. "That's very kind of you, Allie."

Allie set the bags down and crossed the room to sit beside her. "How is everything?"

"I'm okay." She shot Sylvester a look. A _don't tell her I'm not sleeping, don't tell her I'm anxious about everything_ look. A _none of that stuff is anyone's business_ look.

Sylvester busied himself looking in the paper bags.

"Good," Allie said. "I'm glad. And how is the little one?"

"She's fine," Florence said. "I mean, breathing is about all we can look for right now, so…as well as to be expected."

She sounded clinical. Too clinical. Detatched. _Is Allie going to think I don't care about the baby? My baby,_ she corrected her thought immediately. A wave of guilt surged within her.

"She's got another week under her belt now," Allie said. "That's such a good sign. Every day is a good sign. Walter says he's been keeping an eye on her when you guys are here recuperating."

Florence felt like she hadn't known that. But she had to have. She had been horrible at remembering things the past few days. "Yeah. He's nice. Helpful, I mean. He's helpful."

"Well, I'm going to get to cooking," Allie said. She patted Florence's knee. "Sly, come over here and sit with her."

Florence was glad when Sylvester joined her on the couch. Allie's brief touch reminded her how isolated and alone she felt. She leaned against her husband, tucking her head into his arm. _What on Earth would I be without you?_

Thankfully, Allie was too busy working on unloading and sorting the ingredients in her bags to notice when she started to cry again, turning her face into her husband's sleeve to hide her tears.

* * *

"Here, Amber," Paige said. "I have some paints for you. Do you want to finger paint?"

"Painting!" Amber jumped up and down.

"Don't stomp. Come here and sit on the chair. Walt, you want to paint with us?"

"Finger painting is messy."

"Easy there, Sylvester." Paige winked.

He rolled his eyes. Crossing the room, he opened the cupboard and took out a plate.

"No, Walter, use the paper plates."

"Single use cutlery is bad for the environment."

"So is the plane that's still stuck out in the mountains."

"We didn't do that on purpose."

"I don't want to wash the plate. Get the newspaper, then."

Walter gathered a few newspapers from the recycling bag and brought them over, dumping the blue, yellow, and red paint into three distinct splotches.

"More colors," Amber said. "More colors?"

"We don't need more colors," Paige said. "We can make the colors."

"See, Ambie, these are the primary colors," Walter said. "You can make other colors from them. Like orange. And purple. And green."

"Walter, she's too young to understand that."

"I'm sorry, can I parent?" He snapped. They stared at each other in silence. He sighed. "Sorry."

Paige sighed too, sliding into the seat next to Amber.

"Here," he said, ignoring her. "Look. See this? Red. Yellow." He took some red on his pointer finger and yellow on his thumb, then rubbed them together. "See? Orange!"

Amber put her whole hand in the red.

"No, Amber," Walter said. "Actually, no, okay, now take your other hand and put it in the blue."

Amber stared at him. Paige tapped in front of the blue paint. "Put the clean hand in this one." When Amber did, Paige smiled. "Now do this!" She vigorously rubbed her palms together. Amber mimicked her. Paige gasped, putting her hands to her cheeks. "Wow, purple!"

"Puple!" Amber said with a grin, putting her hands against her face like her mother had done.

"Oh," Paige gasped when she realized what she'd done. "Amber, your face is all a mess."

Amber put her hands down on the paper in front of her.

"Now lift them up!" Walter said, raising his own hands in demonstration.

Amber did, and squealed with delight at her two purple hand prints on the paper, with hints of blue on the edge of one hand and red on the edge of the other.


	21. Chapter 21

The atmosphere in the garage, on their first real day back at work, was odd. Florence was given the day off so she could go to the hospital, so in many ways, it felt like the old team again; Cabe's absence prevented that nostalgia from truly coming through.

"I know he's enjoying retirement," Happy said, "and I know he still helps us from time to time. But a day like this just sort of reminds me how much I liked having the old timer around."

Sylvester came down from the loft. "Where did Toby go?"

"Going to get the kids from day care. He should be back any minute." Happy cocked her head. "I'm a terrible person and forgot to ask earlier. How's little Tilly?"

"Hanging in there," Sylvester said. "She's trying to open her eyes, but just gets them the tiniest bit open and then closes them again. Might be due to the light. I've heard of preemies going blind from the incubator. Florence worries that we won't have the skills necessary to be the parents she deserves."

"You guys will do great," Paige said. "Most folks find a way to be what their children need. And the _want_ to do so is often half the battle."

"I know. Florence is just so worried about it. She keeps coming up with every little thing that could go wrong and convinces herself that that's going to happen to us. You should have seen how she reacted to the flowers everyone sent. I'm torn between worrying about her and thinking I'm somehow not reacting properly to everything."

"Everyone reacts to stressful situations in their own way," Paige said. "You know that. And one way you've always managed to be strong is knowing that your strength would help someone else. But…" she touched his shoulder. "If you ever need to break, come over. We'll be there for you, and you won't have to worry about upsetting her. Right, Walter?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from his desk, and seemed to interpret the tone of the conversation correctly. "Yes. Of course, Sly."

Sylvester gave a small smile. "Thanks, Paige. And Walter. I appreciate it."

The garage door creaked open, and the two Quinn – Curtis children raced in ahead of their father. "Uncle Sylvester!" Tad said, running right past Happy. "How is Tilly?"

Happy smiled.

So did Sylvester. "She's doing well, Tad, thank you so much for asking."

"Boss?" Toby said. "There's a big ass box just got dropped off. It has a bunch of 'this end up' and 'do not throw' type stickers on it. Are you expecting anything or is this definitely a bomb?"

"Toby, let's not be dramatic," Paige said. The team followed her and they circled the package. It was big, tall, and had a lid on the top which had small holes in it. "I don't think this was delivered through the mail."

"Oh boy, now I'm thinking it actually is a bomb," Sylvester said anxiously.

"I'm sure it's not a bomb, Sly," Happy said, motioning to Tad and Ellie to stay back.

"That gesture just now did not help convince me."

"Hello! I'm a present."

The team jumped backward. "Did the box just talk?" Happy said. "Or am I just going crazy?"

Walter was staring at the package, his brow furrowed.

"Walt?" Toby said, waving his arm in front of his friend's face. "Earth to Walt. I think he's buffering."

"Hmm?" Walter said, jolting out of wherever he'd been in his mind.

Toby rolled his eyes. "The box is addressed to you, are you going to open it?"

"Technically…"

Happy rolled her eyes. "Don't technically us. Your name is on it, it being left at the garage doesn't change that. Stop being a wuss and open the box."

"Stop being a wuss!" Ellie said, trying to mimic her mother's tone.

"It sounds like a toy," Paige said, bending over the box.

"Watch this be some scheme from a competitor, a way to rub in our faces how advanced they are," Walter mumbled.

"By sending a talking toy?" Toby asked.

Walter shifted. "I don't know. It's possible."

"It's from Mr. Yates," Paige said. "I'm sure it's not a flex."

"A flex?"

"It's what the kids are saying these days, Walt," Toby said. "Keep up."

"Think of it this way," Tad piped up. "It says it's a present, not a bomb."

"Well, isn't "I'm a bomb" the last thing you'd expect a bomb to say?" Toby asked, raising an eyebrow at his son.

Tad looked at him as if he'd just solved all the mysteries in the universe. "Good point, Dad."

Rolling her eyes, Paige lifted the top off of the box and immediately jumped back in surprise. "Oh!"

The team peeked into the box in such a way that the creature inside would have seen each of their foreheads and eyes.

"It's a bird."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Happy glared at Walter. "You said it could have been a toy."

"Hello!" The bird said. "I'm a present!"

"Ooooh, boy," Sylvester said, backing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. "It talks."

Toby lifted the cage out of the box, handing the papers inside to Paige. "Our first pet since Ferret Bueller! This is a special day." He set the cage on the table and grinned.

"Is this bird legal to own?" Paige asked.

"Sadly, yes," said Sylvester. "The only illegal bird in California is the Quaker Parrot, or Monk Parrot."

"Why sadly?" Tad asked.

"I don't like birds," Sylvester said. "You know that."

"He didn't mean that," Toby said, reaching into the cage to pat the bird on the head. It pecked at him. "Whoa, sorry. I was just trying to tell you that Sylvester loves you."

"I absolutely do n – "

"Sylvester loves you," Toby said loudly, bending to be face to face with the bird as he repeated more slowly. "Sylvester loves you – hey!" He jumped back as the bird stretched up toward him. "I don't think he likes me."

"What are we going to name him?" Tad asked, his arms around Ellie's shoulders to prevent her from getting too close.

"Birdie," she said with a grin.

"Let's think of something a little more creative," Tad said.

"How about we name it Get That Thing Out Of Here?" Sylvester asked. "Who sends a bird as a 'sorry your plane crashed' gift anyway? Like is there some sort of dark humor in that? Oh, this thing's wings are clipped, it can't fly, oh haha, neither can your plane."

"I don't think that's what he was going for, Sly," Paige said. "He just…gives extravagant gifts. I guess."

"Maybe the bird was meant for Thomas Beek," Toby said, nudging Happy.

"I hope not," she said. "Though I do like the idea of him getting a giant scorpion delivered today."

"No, a small one, they're more dangerous."

"Hello. I'm a present."

"Yes," Paige said. "Yes, you are a present."

"Is it just me," Sylvester said, "or did that last one have more attitude to it? Like we're doing this whole bickering thing, and _hello_, he's a present."

"So you're saying we should appreciate and enjoy the bird?"

"No, I'm saying that makes it even more terrifying because it can read rooms and adjust its tone accordingly. Get rid of it."

"Aww, Sly," Paige said. She leaned over the cage. The bird cocked its head to see her. "That's Sylvester," she said, throwing her brother in law a playful smirk before turning back to the bird. "Sylvester loooooves you."

"Why don't we name it Sylvester?" Toby asked jokingly.

"Do not name it Sylvester." He said, folding his arms.

"What are you going to do if Tilly is scared of a bird?" Toby asked. "Hide behind her? Come make friends with Other Sylvester."

"No, Toby," Walter said. "We shouldn't name the bird Sylvester."

"Thank you, Walter," Sylvester said.

Walter snapped his fingers. "The bird's name is Super Fun Guy."

Sylvester groaned.


	22. Chapter 22

_How did your visit with Tilly go? She doing well?_

It was a simple question. Well, two related questions. Both could, when stripped down, be questions with very simple answers. Yet Florence wasn't really sure how to respond.

She hadn't gone to the hospital that morning, as she was supposed to have, just like she hadn't gone the previous week, the week that bird had shown up out of the blue announcing that he was a gift. Whenever she thought about getting dressed, getting into her car and driving to the hospital, navigating those hallways and avoiding eye contact with anyone, all her body wanted to do was sleep for a week. The idea that something could be happening to her daughter without her knowing made Florence so anxious she threw up nearly all her meals, but the thought of being there when something happened somehow seemed worse. She would break down again. She was barely holding it together as it was.

_She is doing just fine._

She hoped that the lie by omission would be enough to fool the mechanic. After all, it was Toby who would be most likely to be in tune with something like that. With any luck, Happy would verbally relay the message to him, not show the text.

But they were off in Sacramento with their kids, making a short vacation out of Toby speaking at a conference. So he might even be the one to originally see the message.

She was too tired to think about how to reply if he questioned her.

Another text came through:

_You home?_

She tapped one of the suggested replies. _Yes._

_Then open the door. I've been knocking._

She felt like gravity was actively out to get her, preventing her from standing up, but eventually, Florence managed. She unlocked the deadbolt, twisted the knob, and gave it a half hearted push.

Walter opened the door the rest of the way. "I just came from the hospital."

"Why?"

"Was driving by. And I'd said I would check in on Tilly for you."

"Oh. Thank you?" She couldn't remember asking him to do that. But she must have. Florence squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping that would help clear her head. "Come in."

Walter smiled as he entered the living room. "How are you? Are you okay?"

Florence shrugged. "I don't know."

"Is there anything you need? Any way I can be there for you?"

"I don't know."

Walter nodded. "I understand."

"Glad you do. Because I sure as heck don't."

"I suppose this is the part where I apologize."

Florence shrugged, dropping back down on the couch.

"Where's your husband?"

"With your wife. They're…" she frowned. "They're pitching Scorpion for a job. I don't remember which."

"Right." Walter nodded. "I forgot that was today. It sort of runs together, huh?"

"Tell me about it."

"I'm no Toby," Walter said, "But It probably isn't good for you to be inside all the time. You should, I don't know. Get out. Go for a hike. Like we used to."

She cocked her head. "We've never done that."

"We haven't?" He stared at her. He looked so genuinely puzzled that it almost made Florence uncomfortable. Then he shook his head. "Huh. Okay. Well, still. Getting out. That can help. With…stuff. Sunshine and fresh air, you know."

Florence folded her arms. "You and I both hole up inside and work on things when we need distractions. Sunshine and fresh air? Why are you being weird?"

"Paige is rubbing off on me, I suppose," he said with a chuckle. "Though there is something to be said for the Vitamin D."

"I guess." Florence looked at her phone. Sylvester should be home in an hour or two. She wished she could turn time forward, like that dog in the Disney movie about all the puppies.

They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Walter left. She realized several minutes after the door clicked behind him that he was the first person in weeks to wonder how _she_ was, instead of just asking about Tilly.

* * *

Paige was delighted by three things.

Firstly, Tilly was doing well. She'd asked Walter how the baby was as soon as they sat down to dinner, when he'd mentioned that he'd been by the hospital. "She's far from out of the woods. But they don't have any complaints, according to the records I hacked."

Secondly, Amber had gone to the aquarium that day with Cabe and Allie while she and Sylvester were in their meetings, and the toddler had passed right out after their meal.

Which led to the third thing. Her and Walter alone in their bedroom.

"It's been a while since it's been this quiet around here," she commented, pulling her hair out of its ponytail.

Walter was laying under the top sheet. "My brain is rarely quiet," he said, "but the outside noise is much reduced, I can agree with you on that."

"Why don't I see if I can quiet your brain down?" Paige grinned as she straddled him, her hands running up through his hair and then sliding down to his neck as she put her lips on his. "God, it's been too long," she moaned at the feel of his hands on her hips. She moved her lips to his neck, her tongue dancing along the spots that she'd been a fan of ever since discovering them. She moved back to his lips, torn between wanting hours of foreplay and just wanting him inside her, now, making her eyes roll back in her head and jumbling her thoughts so she couldn't worry about anything even if she wanted to. And she didn't want to. She just wanted her husband.

She undid the buttons on his shirt, sliding her hands over his chest. His hands were still on her hips. She pulled back slightly. "You okay, Walt?"

"Of course I'm okay," he said. "I'm with you."

She frowned. "You just seem a little…" she made a motion up above their heads. "When you're usually…" she gestured back and forth between them.

"No. No, not at all. I'm right here." He flexed his fingers. "I'm just a little dizzy."

"Not in the good way, I'm assuming. Did you forget to eat today?"

"No. I ate." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm here. What would you like?"

"Are you offering me some kind of sex menu?"

"If that's what you'd like?"

Paige groaned, swinging her leg back over so she was kneeling on the bed next to him. "I'm not interested if you're not into it."

"No, no, I am." He pulled his boxers tighter around him. "See?"

"You and I both know that a body responding to stimuli doesn't mean the person is into something," Paige said. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid."

"I'm not treating you like you're stupid."

"It sounds like you are."

"Me saying I'm not doing something sounds like I actually am?"

"Okay. Fine. But be honest. Don't do this _it's all good _crap. Just admit you don't want to have sex with me."

"Well, I don't really want to _now._" He said. "Why are you taking this personally?"

She sighed. "Fine. I shouldn't." _It's just been a while. Why don't you want me?_ She didn't say either of those things out loud. They were a guilt trip. They weren't fair. But she still felt them.

"It's been a long few weeks," Walter said. "I'm tired. A lot is on my mind. That's all."

_This used to be how we got what was bothering us out of our heads._ "Okay."

"But if you need…I'm not saying no, Paige."

"I don't want to use you like that."

"I'm consenting."

"It's not the same."

She meant that it wasn't the same feeling to sleep with him when she knew he wasn't as ravenous for her as she was for him. But as she lay on top of the covers, listening as his breathing slowly shifted into the lazy rhythm it held when he slept, she realized she felt that way about more than just sex.


	23. Chapter 23

**Just a single scene update, to break up the heavy stuff.**

* * *

"Remember. If anyone reacts to me showing up, I'm leaving and I'm never coming back."

"Lori," Sylvester said, smiling affectionately. "They're going to be happy to see you."

"I'm just their coworker. A coworker showing up to work isn't cause for celebration."

"Just hold my hand, okay?"

She did. He pushed open the door to the garage, taking a step forward that was met with slight resistance, hesitation, from his wife. He knew she was anxious – he understood. She had seen all of them since they got back from…the East Coast? Colorado? What was, technically, their previous location?

Regardless. She hadn't been back to work. Not officially. But Tilly was a month old, and she was still being cared for around the clock in the NICU. Florence was spending most of her time sleeping or worrying, and Sylvester had been relieved when she'd agreed to come into work to take her mind off things. "I think you'll feel better once you have a Bunsen burner in front of you."

Florence had smiled at that. And now, despite the hesitation, she followed Sylvester into the garage.

"Hey Flo," Happy said with a smile, looking over at them from her work station. Almost immediately, she clapped a hand over her face. "Wow. I fucked that up really quickly."

Florence smiled. "It's fine. Hi, Happy."

Toby looked up from his desk, which was piled with books. Sylvester assumed they were related to the conference he had just gone to. He gave a casual wave. Sylvester was glad that their friend seemed to sense that Florence didn't want a party.

"Is this…Super Fun Guy?" Florence asked, cocking her head and staring at the large cage – as if there would be any other large bird perched in the middle of the garage.

"It is," Sylvester said. "Don't worry. I'm working on getting rid of it."

"Super Fun Guy is not an 'it'," Toby said.

"Fine. I'll rephrase." Sylvester cleared his throat. "Seriously though, what is up with the bird? Mr. Yates owes us an explanation for forcing that…creature…among us."

"Don't be hating on the bird," Toby said. He leaned over toward Super Fun Guy. "Sylvester loves you. Don't forget it."

The bird mumbled something.

"See? He doesn't know what he's doing here either."

Toby rolled his eyes. "That's not what he was saying."

"How do you know what he's saying?"

"Maybe he's saying he _luves_ you."

"Or he's saying that Mr. Yates sent him to test us."

"Test what, exactly?"

Sylvester shrugged. "I don't know. It isn't like he went easy on any of us at the stupid meeting."

"In his defense," Happy said, "the decision isn't one he is making lightly."

"Speaking of Mr. Yates," Paige said, coming down the stairs with Amber in one arm and her phone in her opposite hand, "as I'm assuming, we _are_ currently speaking of Mr. Yates…" she reached the bottom of the stairs and put Amber down. "I spoke with him on the phone again. He claims he just felt bad about how everything happened and wanted to get us a gift. He just has…odd ideas for gifts…I guess. And he is annoyingly amused at our lack of belief in his explanation. Which leads me to think he is actually telling the truth." Her eyes landed on Florence. "Hey there, Florence! How is Tilly?"

"Fine," she said. "She's reached the age where the odds for babies are good when they're born at that point, so…" she shrugged. "I know getting one's hopes up is a setup for finding yourself so deep in despair, you just want to swim down. But…" she shrugged. "I mean…"

"Supah Fun Guy! Supah Fun Guy!" Amber was jumping up and down in front of the cage.

"We're coping," Sylvester said, putting his arm around Florence, ignoring the toddler's delighted giggles when the bird lowered his head to look at her. "It's hard to hope while trying to protect yourself at the same time." Florence nodded. Sylvester kissed her temple.

"Are there…" Florence cleared her throat, her hand tightening around Sylvester's. "Are there any updates on the cause of our plane crash?"

Sylvester was surprised she got the sentence out without her throat catching, but then he felt her shudder next to him, betraying the effort it had taken her to speak calmly."

"These things take time, as you know. If it turns out this somehow was someone else's drone…it isn't a good look for us, to have then falsely accused the competition." Paige sighed. "And even if the drone is one of our competitors' we have to determine, well, they have to determine, the committee, if it was done on purpose, and if they knew it was our plane. At this point, Mr. Yates can't make his decision until this is sorted out. It'll take some time, but every day is moving forward."

Florence tensed up beside Sylvester. He looked at her curiously. He noticed that Toby was regarding her in a similar way. _We all just want you to feel better, my love. We just want you out of this funk and back to feeling like yourself._

"Supah Fun Guy! Supah Fun Guy!"

The voice wasn't Amber's. The adults looked over at the cage. Amber was still jumping up and down; the bird was bobbing his head in an attempt to mimic the action. "Supah Fun Guy!" He chirped. Amber giggled.

Paige was smiling as she shook her head. "What a pair those two will be."

"I ship it," Toby said, opening a bag of chips.

"Florence," Happy said, clearing her throat after a period of silence from the adults. "I'm having some difficulty with this product I'm trying to apply. It's not a rush job, so there's a bit of time, but since you're here, I was wondering if you could look and see if there's some way to improve it."

Florence let go of Sylvester's hand, rubbing her palms together slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."


	24. Chapter 24

"Ma'am?"

Florence jumped as she realized the woman behind the desk was speaking to her. She cleared her throat. "Yes. Um. I'm here for…for visiting…NICU visiting, I'm…" she shook her head, trying to clear it enough to speak. "Florence Tipton – Dodd," she said. "I'm Florence Tipton – Dodd."

"Ah, Mrs. Tipton. Tilly's mother."

"Yes." Her throat was dry.

"Wait right here, and I'll bring Jessie up to take you to see her. Your husband and brother have been quite the regulars around here."

It really, really felt like this receptionist – _Elmer_, the name tag said – was making a point about how Florence hadn't visited in weeks. She set her jaw. She didn't bother correcting him that Walter was not her brother, and was only barely her brother – in – law.

"Looks like Jessie is coming now," Elmer said. "She'll be happy to take you, Mrs. Tipton."

"Thank you. And it's Tipton – Dodd."

"Of course, Mrs. Tipton – Dodd. Jessie. This is Tilly's mother. Can you escort her back? I don't think she knows the way."

Florence was tired, but had a feeling that were she well rested the problem would not be coming up with something snarky to say back, but deciding which of the options that popped into her head would be best to use. She was slipping. Unprepared.

She followed Jessie down the hallway, past the place she'd had her meltdown weeks before. Another nurse – _Annelise _– stopped to say hi to Jessie. She said she was going on her break. "Hi there," she'd added to Florence.

"This is Tilly's mama," Jessie said.

Tilly's mama.

She felt some sort of emotion when Jessie called her that. She couldn't identify what that emotion was.

They continued walking, past a couple employees only doors, and to the small room that was assigned to her daughter. It wasn't as drab as she was expecting; there were some photos taped to the wall. She washed up, putting on the gown they provided. She was told she didn't need to wear gloves as long as she washed her hands if she touched anything else.

"I'll leave you with her for a few minutes," Jessie said after reminding Florence not to attempt to remove Tilly from where she lay. "You can touch her, though," she said. "We encourage that. And talk to her all you want, so she knows you're here."

"She probably doesn't know me," Florence said. "She wouldn't have been hearing me long."

"She can get to know you, though," Jessie said with an encouraging smile. "You're her mother. It will work out."

When she was gone, Florence stuck her fingers in through the side, lightly brushing the baby's foot. It was the first time she'd touched her – ever. She wondered how much Sylvester had. She wondered if Walter had. "I'm sorry, Tilly," she said. "I don't know how to be your mother."

It was more than not knowing how – she didn't _feel_ like someone's mother, much less the mother of the little girl in front of her. She was supposed to have gotten bigger. She was supposed to feel somersaults, and be able to tell if it was Tilly's head or bottom against her ribs. She was supposed to have had a shower. She was supposed to sit awake with Sylvester, timing contractions, a mix of excited and scared. And then she was supposed to have had Tilly on her chest, right after birth, breaking down and crying under the emotion of knowing that the life before her was a combination of her and the man she loved. She was supposed to love her daughter more than she'd ever loved anything before.

She didn't feel that.

She felt something for the baby, that was for sure. An…affection, perhaps. That constant fear in the back of her mind that Tilly would never come home. But it was foggy, muted, in slow motion. It wasn't quite there.

Her phone buzzed. She checked it. It was Walter.

_How are you? Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?_

Another text quickly followed.

_Please don't hesitate to ask. It's what brothers are for._

She rolled her eyes. "Uncle Walter is being dramatic," she said to Tilly. "He's Sylvester's brother in law via his first marriage, but I don't think he would be mine since I'm sort of in the same role as his sister once was. I know he and Syl…" she blinked. "He and _your father_ still consider themselves brothers, though." And she supposed she _did_ just refer to him as _Uncle Walter_, so it's not like she disagreed with the dynamic. "We're kind of a weird family, Tilly. Scorpion is kind of a weird place. But it's _our_ weird place, you know?"

She texted Walter back. _With Tilly. _

She almost put her hand back against the baby when she realized she'd touched her phone. She had to rewash her hands. _Oh my God I could have killed her. _Was she being dramatic? Maybe. Maybe not. She couldn't tell anymore. She couldn't identify anything anymore.

She sat quietly in the chair, hands folded in her lap. Jessie popped in to say the doctor would stop by if she had any questions. Florence gave a polite smile. The questions she had were far too private to share with someone she barely knew.

* * *

They'd suggested she wait to be evaluated by a counselor. She was "behaving listlessly" when they came back into the room. Resources, they said. We have resources. Something like that. They told her to go down to this place, fill out a form, someone would speak with her.

"Over the last two weeks," she read quietly, "how often have you been bothered by any of the following problems?"

She read the list. Little interest or pleasure in doing things. Feeling down, depressed, hopeless. Difficulty getting to sleep, or sleeping too much. Blah, blah blah. The form said to put a check mark by your answer, but the options were numbers, for number of days. Wouldn't it make more sense to circle? But it said do a check. That didn't make sense. It wasn't efficient. It wasn't effective. It was messy and it felt like a trap.

Everything faded away. Vision, hearing, it blurred and dulled. Florence shook her head in an attempt to clear it. She'd lost her train of thought.

_So far away but still so near.__  
__The lights come up, the music dies._

She hated music in places like this, as quiet as it was. It was supposed to be comforting, to help pass the time, she supposed the people at the desks would recognize the order in which the songs were played. Oh, I love this song, or oh, not this one again. Perhaps some were also sick of the music, same songs every day.

_But you don't see me standing here.__  
__I just came to say goodbye._

Same song every day. She understood that.

She stood, ripped the evaluation in half, and had her hand over the trash bin when she froze. Trash was public property. Trash could be seized.

She shoved the torn paper in her pocket as she walked out.

* * *

**I know a lot of the focus here is on Florence, but that's been what the premise of this fic has always been about – the case is related, but the focus is on how Scorpion reacts to what Florence and Sylvester are going through, and it wouldn't be a lengthy fic from me without the angst. Next chapter, more of what's been going on with Walter – bits of which was hinted at in here – and stuff will be coming to a head reeeeal soon, for multiple dynamics. Brace y'all selves for more emotions. There's a scene coming up that, once upon a time, has content I genuinely believed I would never write.**


	25. Chapter 25

The photo on the nightstand, next to the one of Sylvester and Megan, was new. It showed Florence, with dark circles under her eyes and hair that had seen more care, Tilly in her arms with a sticker attached to the blanket that said, in an ugly cursive font, _Mommy got to hold me for the first time._

Florence glanced at it, her gaze lingering for the briefest of moments, before turning toward her husband, running her hand through her hair. It was still damp from her earlier shower. For some reason, that annoyed her.

Sylvester was laying on their bed, tablet in hand, wearing a T – shirt she hadn't seen before. It was some sort of pink, maybe salmon color, with some superhero design on the front. Perhaps a comic book character. That wasn't important. What was important was she was married to the man wearing it. "You look good in that," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah. That's a nice color on you."

He was looking curiously at her, and she found herself blushing, smirking back at him. His smirk gave her butterflies. It reminded her of the first time he'd kissed her, after the near disaster in Europe, when she'd admitted to him that her heart was racing.

Maybe the feeling she was feeling right now was a sign that she was finally getting better, shaking off whatever funk had been consuming her. Maybe finally getting to hold their daughter, just two days ago, had changed something in her, even though at the time she'd felt like a monster for not crying for joy. Or maybe she was just in love with the man in front of her and it was about time she felt normal again.

Florence crawled onto the bed, propping up on her hands as she leaned over him, smiling and bending to kiss him before bumping her nose affectionately against his. "I love you, Sylvester Dodd," she murmured, kissing him on the cheek and then on the mouth again. "I love you so much."

He kissed her back, a hand on the side of her face. Florence nestled in closer to him, taking a fistful of his shirt. They hadn't had sexual contact in the two weeks prior to Tilly's birth, nor in the two months since, and she knew it might take a little time to get her body going, but she was surprised at how little she was actually responding to her husband's touch. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted his arms around her, but…

Sylvester's hand slid to her hip, pulling her closer, and an action that should have sent a thrill through her instead made one thing clear to Florence: _I don't want to do this._

She'd initiated, maybe she _had_ wanted to at that point, but right now, she could think of several things she did want to do – sleep, bury herself in correcting the graduate essay on Mendeleev recently posted online, burn those pregnancy books with the extra thick chapters on the third trimester…she did not want to have sex with Sylvester. The thought of it made her feel unwell.

But she didn't stop kissing him. His hands were wandering, caressing her hips and the side of one of her breasts just in the ways she normally loved to be touched. His breathing was growing heavy, and he gave a quiet moan when she ran her hand over his chest, brushing one of his nipples through his shirt. She caught his upper lip between hers, sucking gently on it, and moved his hand over to cover her breast in the hope of reignite the twinge of desire she'd felt when she'd started this.

Sylvester, of course, took this as encouragement, because every other time before, that's exactly what it had been. He reached for the drawstring on his shorts. Florence thought she might throw up.

He muttered something about wanting her, it was quiet, it was meant to be romantic and in the past that's exactly how it was received. She debated just letting him, muttering back what he wanted to hear, because she'd initiated this and encouraged this and he was eager and they had gone too far to stop now and _no they had not._

"Sly, I can't." She put hand on his chest as he attempted to pull her on top of him. She sat up, a hand over her mouth, her head spinning. "I'm sorry, I can't.

"What?"

He sounded angry, but she knew he wasn't. That was his confused voice, his baffled voice, his _I have no idea what just happened_ voice. He wasn't angry, he wouldn't pressure her, but the tone made _her_ angry anyway. "I said I _can't_, okay?"

"Okay." He bit his lip. "Is…is it something I did?"

"No. No. It's me. I promise. I just…" her voice cracked, and she put both hands over his face.

She felt the mattress shift, and then he was next to her, their legs dangling off the side of the bed. He slid an arm around her waist. "Did…did something hurt, or is it, like, mental?"

"I'm not mental just because I don't want to have sex with you," she snapped, feeling bad about the remark immediately. "I'm sorry. I know that's not what you meant." She looked up at him, the tears flowing freely. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"You probably have post – partum depression. You can see someone for it, you know."

"I don't want to see anyone. I can't trust people I don't know."

"Do you want to talk to me about it?"

"No. You're dealing with everything with Tilly too. You don't have to shoulder my load."

"We're married. That's part of it."

She got up. "I appreciate it, Sly, but I just want to…"

"What?"

"I don't know." She sighed, running her hand through her hair and making a frustrated sound upon realizing it was still damp. "I don't know anything."

"Just know that I love you. I'll be here for anything you need. Always."

Florence knew that statement shouldn't bother her. But it did. It bothered her a lot.

* * *

Walter was having a bad dream.

Paige could tell by the amount he was sweating, but when she sat up and leaned over him, using her phone for light, she saw tears leaking from his closed eyes. She knew better than to wake him up. He'd be disoriented, not know where he was, caught somewhere between his subconscious and reality.

He groaned, and the pained sound alarmed her. She scooted up behind him, rubbing his arm, and kissed his neck gently. "It's okay," she said quietly. "It's okay."

Walter seemed to be soothed, momentarily growing quiet, though his body was still trembling slightly. Then he groaned again, lurched forward, and staggered out of the bed, falling to his knees. He was out of the little light her phone could provide, but Paige heard the tell tale sound of vomiting.

"Walter," she said, crawling out of bed and walking up behind him, her hands on his back. "Walter, breathe."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not." She rubbed his shoulder. "Talk to me, Love."

"I'm dizzy. I'm…"

"Breathe," she said. "Let me get you some water."

"I…" His shoulders tensed up, and he gagged again.

"Walt," Paige said, "what did you dream about?"

"I don't…I don't remember. Something. Something bad. It was so…" He put a hand to his forehead.

"Do you have a headache?"

He nodded.

"You've had a lot of those recently."

"I'm _fine_."

"I'm just saying…"

"You're just saying you know me better than me," he snapped.

Paige lifted her hands as if to surrender. "Whoa."

"Don't be condessssending," Walter said. "Con…condescending."

"I'm not. But you used to say I know you better than you do. You used to find it _romantic_, even. But now it's a problem? Why are you shutting me out?"

"The world has bigger problems, Paige. Tilly's fighting for her life, Megan's going through a lot, Sylvester…"

"Megan?" Paige frowned, an uneasy feeling creeping into her thoughts. Or rather, not creeping in. But circling. Ready to lunge. "Walter…you…you remember that your sister…?"

"What if Tilly was hers?" Walter turned to look at her, and she'd dropped her phone, causing the light to fade slowly upward, making Walter look like he was at camp, holding a flashlight under his chin while telling a ghost story. "If she'd…if things were different. Tilly would be hers."

"Tilly wouldn't be hers, Walter," Paige said. "If she ever had a child, it wouldn't have been Tilly. Tilly is Florence and Sylvester's child. You…" _Oh boy. _"You know who Florence is?"

"Megan," Walter said, so quiet that Paige could almost not make it out. "Walt, are you confused? Are Florence and Megan…the same person to you?" It felt weird to say. But somehow, it made more sense to her than anything else. She suddenly remembered the day Tilly was born, when she'd thought that Walter had murmured _leg_ in response to Florence's leg shaking. Paige suddenly realized that he might have said _Meg_ instead.

And the hospital visits. Walter's insistence on sitting outside the hospital, watching the light from Tilly's room like her room was the East Egg dock. Walter's constant worry about Florence, wanting to be there for her, needing constant assurance that she was okay. He cared about her; she was one of their best friends, but this was more than that.

Paige had to ask the question, but the answer terrified her. "You…you do know that Florence isn't Megan, right?"

"She's Sylvester's wife," Walter said. "She was Sylvester's wife."

Is, was, _do you know the difference_? The ten – year anniversary of her death was coming up. Of course Megan would be on his mind. She should have seen this coming, predicted it somehow, but she was so busy with Amber, with the benefactor…

"Walt, come back to bed," she said.

"I have to clean this up."

Right. The vomit. Paige wrinkled her nose. Somehow regurgitated fermented fish seemed like the more appealing of her current problems.


	26. Chapter 26

When Toby asked where Florence was, Sylvester stammered, spitting out random syllables before finally managing "visiting Tilly." It was a lie, but Toby wouldn't have any reason to believe it was. And it sounded a lot better than "laying on the couch with a blanket covering every inch of her saying she doesn't want to talk and to just go to work without me."

Toby raised an eyebrow at his response, but didn't question it. He was sitting on a stool in front of the bird cage, holding up a screwdriver.

"If you're planning on letting him out," Sylvester said, "might I suggest – and I really don't want to – just opening the door?"

"I'm trying to teach Super Fun Guy to bring Happy her tools." Toby said. "Which require teaching her about said tools. I've almost got him saying 'air impact wrench' which is pretty cool given how bird speech mimics – "

"A four – pound bird cannot carry a six pound Air Impact Wrench," Sylvester said. "You've seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but you shouldn't have had to to know that."

"I don't mean her big ass wrench," Toby said. "I mean like if she drops something, he can get it for her, or he can tell her where it went."

"That's big ambitions for something that's just squawking random crap most of the time it opens its beak."

"Are you going to stand for this verbal abuse?" Toby asked. The bird shifted its weight. "Sylvester loves you," Toby told it.

"I swear, you keep saying that and it's going to start repeating it."

"Oh no, you've figured out my plan." Toby spun on the stool. "Sly, is everything okay at home? I can tell by your hesitation that it's not. I can help, you know. This is kinda my area of expertise."

"We're coping. It's hard, yeah, but she – we – just need time."

"And it's okay to need more than just time."

"She isn't comfortable talking to someone who already knows us so well. I know that helps some people, but…she doesn't want to do that."

"Understandable. Some people are more comfortable talking to people not involved in their lives." Toby cocked his head. "She isn't doing that either, is she?"

"You know how she is. Counseling, therapy…it's not for her. She has to want to open up to someone."

"That is tied into wanting to get better, a lot of the time."

"She's just not there yet. Where are Walter and Paige?"

"Okay. I'm not going to push." Toby crossed his ankles. "Cabe was going to watch Amber, but he had to go to a meeting today in regards to our whole crashing incident. So they went to the aquarium with her. She's apparently in a 'colors' phase. Wants to know what color everything is. She's getting at the age where color names will start sticking with her, and she actually seems to be good at remembering that, which I'm sure is a relief to Walter since he's got her under such a microscope. That's something I'm sure you can relate to."

Sylvester could. Tilly was under a microscope too, a medical one, and not by choice. Everything she did and didn't do was measured up to everyone else her age, both other preemies as well as full term two month old children. Everything was percentiles, averages and above and below averages. His and Florence's daughter almost didn't feel like a living human, but some sort of experiment concocted in a lab. Sylvester was almost glad that Florence wasn't visiting the hospital much. He wasn't sure how she would take that. He wasn't even sure how _he_ was taking it.

* * *

Walter remembered the first time he went to an aquarium with Megan. She'd lifted him up on her shoulders so he could see above the crowds of other kids. Standing in another aquarium, thirty four years and five thousands miles away from that memory, he felt some sort of nostalgic connection with his sister as he stood with his daughter on his shoulders, listening to her giggle and feeling her pull his hair as she watched the jellyfish. Paige stood beside him, her hands tucked into her back pockets, half watching the jellies and half taking in Amber's delight.

She wanted to walk by the time they left the aquarium, so Walter let her down and he and Paige each took one of her hands. When they approached a crack in the sidewalk, they lifted her up, as if she was soaring over it. It was something they'd started doing when she was first walking steadily on her own, without even discussing it. They'd just both had the same idea, and executed it flawlessly.

"Oh, look," Paige said, gesturing to a shop up ahead. "Does that say what I think it says?"

"Unless you have a parasite in your brain that impacts your ability to read, I'm sure you know it says 'ice cream shoppe.' Oh," he said when Paige gave him a look. "You were being, never mind, I got it."

Amber didn't notice the tense moment between her parents. Her eyes were lit up. "Ice cream?"

"I think we should have some, yeah, Dad?" Paige asked.

"I think so, Mama," Walter said. "What do you think, Amber?"

"Ice cream!" Amber jumped in place.

"I think we have an answer." Paige held the door as they walked inside.

"Hello!" The boy behind the counter had a very young face, but when he spoke, his voice was startlingly deep. "How are you folks today?"

"We're good, thanks," Paige said. "We just came from the aquarium."

"Oh, fun!"

"Which ice cream you want, Ambie?" Walter asked, gesturing to the photos of the flavors.

She pointed. "This one."

"How about this one over here?" He said. "That is pistachio. You wouldn't like that."

"Yes I would."

"No," Paige said. "You wouldn't, you don't like anything nutty. Try this one here, the vanilla, or the chocolate, or the mint. How about the mint? It's green like the pistachio."

"Green ice cream," Amber said, tapping her hand against the glass. She flattened her palm, dragging it across the display.

"Amber, no," Paige said, pulling her hand away. "I am so sorry," she said to the employee. "I used to be a waitress and I hated when kids smeared glass. I'll clean it up."

"No need," said the boy. "I've got it." He was smiling, but it was the Customer Service Smile. Paige knew that smile.

"Kid sized of the mint, please," Walter said. "Look at that, Ambie, that's all yours. Thank you," he said to the boy upon receiving the plastic cup. "Here, sweetheart."

"Green ice cream," Amber said, sticking her finger into it rather than using the spoon. "What is it?"

"It's ice cream, Amber," Paige said, handing money to the boy at the counter. "You eat it."

"No," Amber said. "Green, what is it?"

"Oh," Walter said. "It's mint. It's like that gum mommy chews, or that shaved candy that Toby had on his birthday cake."

"No!" Amber was suddenly upset, her face going red and her lower lip pouting out. "_What is it?_"

"What is _what_, my sweet?" Paige asked. Amber started to cry. Walter scooped her up and began walking rapidly away from the ice cream counter. "Walter!" She power walked after them, catching the door as they scooted out into the street. "Where are you going?"

"She's making a scene," Walter said. "I'm removing her from the situation."

Paige could tell Amber was about to drop the ice cream, so she lunged forward, just barely catching it as it fell from the girl's tiny hands. "Amber," she said. "What do you want to know about? The ice cream?"

"No!" She said, tears freely flowing down her face as a wailing noise came from her mouth. "No!"

"Amber!" Walter set her down and held her at arm's length. "_What is your problem?_"

"Walter! Don't snap at her."

"We have to figure out what the hell's wrong with her, don't we?"

"What the hell is _wrong_ with her?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"It sounded like you did. You seem to be misunderstanding me a lot lately."

"You seem to be confusing a lot lately. Maybe we should talk to Toby – "

"We don't need to talk to Toby," he snapped. "We can manage our own family without Toby."

"You're right, we're doing a hell of a job. Exhibit A, this."

She scooped up Amber, walking authoritatively away from him.

"Where are _you_ going?"

"Home," Paige snapped. "I think we've had enough fun for the day."

"We have to figure out what she meant," Walter said, running to catch up and then dropping into a power walk next to them. "We can't fix it if we don't know what got her upset."

"Well, jot that question down for when she learns to communicate better," Paige said. "Ask her what her problem is with Dora the Explorer too, while you're at it."

"You think you're some kind of expert at raising a kid because you raised Ralph by yourself and I didn't, don't you?"

"I'm not an expert," Paige said, "but I _have_ done this before. By myself."

"So I've never parented a toddler before." He grabbed her elbow, and she stopped, turning to face him while rubbing Amber's back. "But you've never done it _with_ someone, so we both have a lot to learn here. You don't get to overrule me with every decision just because you've done this before. In case you hadn't noticed, Ralph and Amber are incredibly different."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Why are you taking offense to that?"

"I already know you think she's stupid. Do you wish that she was some child prodigy like Ralph? She's not, Walt, and the sooner you get it through that battered skull of yours, the better off we'll all be."

"I love her. Her IQ is of no concern to me."

"I don't believe you."

He opened his mouth to snap back at her, but realized he had no clue what words to say. So he folded his arms, letting the silence linger. "You don't _have_ to believe me," he finally said. "I know how I feel. You somehow still doubting me after all these years isn't a me issue."

"You're right. It's a _we_ issue. Because last time I checked, we were married. But we haven't been acting like it. We've been acting like bitter exes."

"Amber deserves more than that."

"_That_ we can agree on." Paige's eyes were tired. "Can we just go home?"

Walter knew there was more. There were things they hadn't said. His head was spinning, his thoughts growing scrambled. There were things he wanted to say, but he couldn't articulate them. And he knew something was bothering her. She'd been looking at him differently the past few days, after he'd had a bad dream about something he couldn't place and had gotten sick on the floor of their bedroom. She wouldn't tell him what it was. He wondered what his bad dream was about.

He remembered the last time a dream had almost destroyed them.


	27. Chapter 27

**I am exhausted. All the time. Updates only take place on the struggle bus. Apologies.**

* * *

"_Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow. All it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground. Inch by inch, row by row…"_

"What are you singing, Taddy bear?" Toby asked.

The boy looked up from the play mat. "I'm singing a garden song to Ellie." He turned back to his sister, taking her hand and slowly swinging it. "_Inch by inch, row by row, someone bless these seeds I sow. Someone warm them from below, til the rain comes pouring down…_"

"Where did he learn a song about gardening?" He asked Happy.

"Allie. I think. She likes those weird kiddie songs."

Toby bumped his hip against hers. "I think you like them too and are glad that our kids get to experience them."

"Stop psychoanalyzing me, or the sexting stops."

"Nothing to psychoanalyze here," Toby said. "Better?" His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it, then looked back to Happy with a smirk. "Nice."

She smirked back. "It's so rare the four of us just get to be _home_. I never would have imagined just having days where we can just stand here and talk while the kids play."

"Well, I do wish we had better circumstances," Toby said. "Rather than going back to little jobs that are menial compared to what we have been doing. I know we have to do what we have to do while this investigation is going on, but I'm not used to being idle like this. If I didn't have you and Tad and Ellie…"

Happy put her hand over his. "Stop it."

"You know where I'd be. Don't pretend you don't."

Happy opened her mouth to say something, but Toby furrowed his brow suddenly and looked over to his son. "Taddy?"

"Yes, daddy?"

"That song says they want someone to warm up the garden from below the ground?"

"_Someone warm them from below til the rain comes pouring down_."

"I knew it." He snapped his fingers and looked at Happy. "That lady at that PTA meeting was right. They _are_ slowly easing satan worship into schools."

Happy rolled her eyes.

Toby grinned back, jumping in surprise when his phone rang. "It's Walter," he said.

"Ugh," Happy said, "I don't want to be called out to a job today."

"Should I ignore him?"

Happy sighed. "I want to say yes, but no, answer it."

Toby squeezed her hand before putting the phone to his ear. "Go for the Tobes."

"Toby."

"Yeah, Walt. What's up?"

There was a silence. Toby cocked his head. "Walt?"

The silence lingered. He could hear Walter's breathing through the phone. Then the younger man spoke. "We need help. _I_ need help."

* * *

"So…you're confusing your feelings for your sister and your feelings for Florence."

Walter nodded. "I mean, I don't…" he furrowed his brow. "Paige is the one that noticed it. I don't know that I see it. But I see the look in her eyes sometimes, and…she believes I do. And that concerns me."

"If we're being completely candid here, I've seen signs of it. I'm just trying to work on nosiness and butting in when I'm not asked. And it makes sense to a degree. She's filled the same basic role in Sylvester's life as Megan did. So now you're associating her with Megan, which with the current state of your brain, isn't a surprise."

"The current state of my brain?"

"You also alluded to personal issues with Paige. I'm assuming that includes both communication and your sex life. That and your disassociating, your headaches, and your frequent confusion, I think it's incredibly likely that you are suffering from some degree of a TBI – a traumatic brain injury."

"I know what TBI stands for."

"Okay. Not the takeaway here, but okay."

"I haven't injured myself recently."

Toby drew in a deep breath. "Walt, you know that they can worsen over time. You've had some terrible head injuries over the years. When you went over the cliff, when you fell down the stairs, and when we crashed in the mountains. I think maybe you hurt your head just enough this last time, the day Tilly was born, to have all of that start impacting your cognition."

Walter shook his head. "My brain is the best tool I have."

"Which is why it's important to monitor this. You're not going to die from it, at least, not probably. But it may affect your life long term. Any difficulties you are having now, you'll have to learn to adapt to them. And those affecting your marriage, well, Paige will have to adapt, too."

"She's been upset…insulted, I think. About our...intimate life."

"If you've injured your temporal lobe or hypothalamus, it can both increase or decrease your libido. Yours has decreased?"

"Maybe. I'm just…"

Toby could see his complexing tinging pink. "Walt, nothing leaves this room."

"I'm not as focused. Not as interested. We haven't…we haven't done anything in a while. She's frustrated. She thinks I'm not attracted to her anymore. That's wrong. I am, it's just…I can't get into it. I'm not enthusiastic. I want to be. But I'm always tired or confused."

"Focus and motivation issues are consistent with a brain injury. You experiencing any physical limitations?"

"Not in the way I think you mean. I _can_, she can just tell I'm not enthusiastic about it. So we don't. She can't really get into it if she doesn't believe I am. And we're fighting. We're snapping at each other. In public. In private. In front of Amber. I know she's upset that Ralph isn't checking in as much as he used to, but that's always been something we've coped with together. I miss him, too."

"I want to be able to blame all of that on your trauma. But to me that sounds a lot like your typical communication failure."

Walter frowned.

Toby shrugged. "I'm just calling it like I see it. It wouldn't be the first time you guys started bottling things up only to have it explode later. Just don't let it explode like it did in 2018. You have a kid now. You can't just walk out of each other's lives."

"I don't want to walk out of her life."

"I know you don't. Just don't let yourself fall back into that pattern."

Walter sighed. "How do we handle…the other thing?"

"Honestly, take advantage of the moments when you _do_ want to do it. Talk to her. Tell her what I told you – or I can, if you'd like – and any moment you start thinking those thoughts, commit to it. Because your interest could go away like," he snapped his fingers, "that." His expression softened at the worry on Walter's face. "Walt, the day you guys got back together, I told Sly that I always knew you would, even the night you broke up. Because I know you guys. You're great together when you work at it. But when you don't talk, you crumble. Just tell her what I told you. She'll understand. And if she doesn't, she'll try until she does."

His voice was quiet. "I hope so."

* * *

Any fears Walter had evaporated the moment he saw the look on his wife's face when he gave her Toby's diagnosis. Everything else came spilling out, about how he _was_ feeling extra protective of Florence, how he'd been hiding his confusion and dizziness and headaches like a wild animal hid sickness, and how he thought his lack of sexual interest was tied to whatever was happening in his brain. He didn't bring up what Toby said about communicating better. He felt it was better to _show_ that instead.

"Oh, Love," she said, caressing his cheek with the back of her hand. "I didn't mean to be insensitive."

"You can react just as I can," he said. "I know you must have been confused. I know I've been angrier lately, less present. I want to get better at it. I want you to feel as loved and desired as you should."

"Don't worry about me," she said. "Let me take care of you, okay? You're hurt. Your healing, if that's possible, comes first. I'll talk to Toby tomorrow, find out what your limits are for work and stuff. Sexual stuff is officially on the back burner. Please don't push yourself. You could get hurt worse. And that wouldn't be good, because," she said, resting her forehead against his, "Amber and I kinda like you."


	28. Chapter 28

**Earlier, I alluded to writing a chapter that I never thought I would write, that I couldn't see myself ever sitting down and creating, that people who know me and how I feel about the dynamics in this show wouldn't believe I was writing if I had told them, that no matter how much a direction needed to be taken, that I of all people would stubbornly refuse to go.**

**This is that chapter.**

* * *

Walter was acting strange around her. Even in her foggy state, Florence could tell. He kept glancing her way, and making a point to look away when she tried to make eye contact. When she asked him how he was doing on the code he was writing, his answer of "what? Nothing. I didn't do anything," was suspicious even to the most socially awkward genius in California. Paige too was sending her glances, as well as similar ones shot Walter's way. It made her uncomfortable. It was as if everyone else had a secret and she was the butt of a joke she didn't know existed.

It was either that or sympathy looks. She didn't like that idea, either.

Toby and Sylvester were in the loft – the former almost certainly trying to antagonize her husband with the bird. He was saying new phrases now, things the doctor had taught him. Florence supposed that meant Super Fun Guy was only going to get more annoying as time passed. But time, for her, was passing slowly. She supposed a plus side of that was it would be longer before the bird became unbearable.

_Unbirdable_, Toby would say. She hated herself for thinking of that.

It was nearer the end of the day, a day that dragged, a day that featured awkward questions about trips to the hospital that she'd never taken, when Walter pulled her aside after another glance between him and Paige that Florence was almost amused at, considering both the O'Briends seemed to believe that she hadn't seen said glance.

"I have to talk to you about something," he said.

Her anxiety spiked. That was never a good way to start a conversation. She attempted to inject some humor. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Last time you had to talk to me about something it got weird."

He smirked. It made her feel better. The smirk faded quickly. It made her feel worse. "Well," he said, "I suspect this is not something that will result in you falling in love with me."

"Hey," she said. "I was never _in love_ wi – "

"The ten year anniversary is coming up," he said. "Of…of my sister. Her passing, rather."

Florence nodded.

"I'm sure you know that. Being Sylvester's wife."

"Yes."

"Well, here's…here's the thing." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It seems that my brain has been, uh, sort of…_confusing_ things. Since Megan was his wife and now you're his wife and you had Tilly in an anniversary year like this it seems I've sort of…started projecting feelings. The way I feel about Megan, to the way I feel about you. And Toby thinks that's why I've been so protective of Tilly."

"Because…you think she's Megan's child?"

"No. Not…not consciously. It's more of a…I've been hit on the head a few too many times."

"I'll say."

"I'm sorry. Paige just told me I had to tell you and apologize for the way I've been – "

"Walt, hey, no worries," she said. "Things have been intense lately. Stuff gets crossed and complicated."

"I thought you would think this subject uncomfortable," Walter said. "I appreciate – "

"Oh, it's definitely uncomfortable," she interjected. "But you're dealing with a lot. Paige mentioned your TBI. I'd be a jerk to give you a hard time about it."

"Well." He nodded. "Thank you. And I am sorry if I made you feel awkward or…if lines were crossed in my vigilance over you and Tilly. I will try to be more conscious of what's appropriate."

She smiled. "Thank you."

She hadn't thought Walter inappropriate. But it felt like an appropriate response to his apology.

"Walt?" Paige appeared in the door to the kitchen. "Amber is running a low grade fever…I don't mean to interrupt this, I know you were building up to it."

"No, we're finished," he said. He looked back at Florence. "Thank you. For being such a good friend." Looking back at Paige, he walked to her, offered his arm, and they disappeared around the corner.

By the time Florence wandered back into the common area, Toby seemed to have left, too. Sylvester was at his chalkboard, working on some math she knew she should recognize, but didn't. He smiled when he saw her. "Hey, wifey."

She gave a small smile. "What are you working on?"

"Just some stuff to keep my mind off things. I get jittery when I go a day without seeing Tilly."

She knew Sylvester wasn't making a jab at her. But it still felt like one. Florence pushed that feeling down. It didn't belong there.

"Walter seems to be going through a lot, too."

He nodded. "He told me about some of it. How he might not ever be back to where he was."

"He just told me some other stuff, too. I don't really know how to process it. I don't know if I can." She sighed. "It requires going back to our crash." She rolled her lower lip under her teeth. "So much would be different if not for that damn trip. But we got greedy. And competitive. We had to win."

"It's for the greater good."

"I know. But…" Florence started to cry. It was distressing to her how easily she could start crying now. "If we hadn't gone on that trip…if I hadn't jumped to go help afterward…"

"You can't do that." He pulled her close. "You'll eat yourself alive if you focus on the what ifs."

"But I am. I am focusing on them. I don't know how to stop it."

"I wish you would go talk to someone."

"I'm talking to _you_."

"But I…" he trailed off. "Okay. Okay. You're talking to me."

"I feel so hopeless, Sly. Nothing makes me happy or excited, when all sorts of things used to. I haven't felt this way since…" She cleared her throat. "Since before you and I were together. And I…I don't even want to go see Tilly. The thought makes me tired. And then I feel guilty, and I want to cry, all over again."

"Don't ever feel guilty, Lori," he said, kissing the top of her head. She wanted to shudder, so overcome with emotion as she usually was, especially lately, when he held her. But this time, it was different. This time she was so acutely aware of how much she relied on him. Depended on him. _Required_ him.

_Sylvester Dodd's wife, _they called her at the hospital. _Tilly's mother._

Hell, apparently to some people she was frickin' _Megan O'Brien._

She pulled away from her husband, leaning over and resting her arms and forehead on the table.

"It's okay," Sylvester said. She felt his fingers on her back. "Just breathe."

"Stop it," she said, straightening up, crossing the room to sit on the couch. "Just stop it."

"Okay." He was looking at her curiously. "What would you like me to do?" He tipped his head. "I know we're both going through this with our daughter. But I can't imagine what you're feeling. Just tell me what to do. I'll do it. You know you're everything to me, Lori." He watched her. "What do you want?"

She let out a long sigh, a heavy and pained one, tears leaking out of her eyes. "I want…"

Sylvester came and sat beside her. Their hands rested in the space between them, barely a centimeter apart.

"I want you to touch me."

He lifted his hand, ready to cover hers. With that action, she had an epiphany. A terrible one.

"But you can't."

Sylvester froze. "…I don't understand."

_God, oh God. _Florence took in a long breath, steeling herself. "I don't remember much about being rescued, or what happened the first day I was in the hospital. But I remember everything else. Every detail of when she was born. How cold the floor felt. How uncomfortable it was. I was scared, and I was crying, and Paige had me and was trying to calm me down. Walter was holding my hand, and my pinky had crossed over my ring finger. The diamond cut into my skin. No one noticed. Not even me." Florence reached over to her bag, pulling it toward her across the coffee table. It felt heavy. It seemed like it took a year to get it within reach. She pulled her deodorant out of it. "Do you see this?" Sylvester nodded, appearing confused. She rotated it, so a darker colored mass stuck to the side was visible to him. "This deodorant has had gum stuck to it since our flight East." She paused. "It isn't my gum. And I don't even care." She dropped the deodorant back into her bag. She thought the cap came off. She didn't bother to check. "I should care. But I don't." Sylvester was looking at her bag with a slight feeling of disgust on his face. "Exactly," she said. "I've lost my ability to give a shit about that. And…" her heart felt like it was being squeezed. "That's not all I've lost." Her throat felt as tight as her heart. "I've lost _me_, Sylvester."

"You haven't lost you. You're in there. You just need to learn how to find you in there." He reached for her hand again, and it killed her to pull it away. _You won't get this out if you let him touch you._ "Florence," he said, "things will improve with time. Scorpion is getting to the bottom of the crash. Tilly is getting closer each and every day to coming home. Ralph called Paige this morning. He may come visit soon. Things are looking up."

"Yes. Things are moving on. Things are looking up. For Scorpion. For Ralph. For Patty, probably. For you. Even for Tilly. But me?" She gave a subtle, almost not noticeable, shake of her head, and her words were almost too quiet to hear. "I've been lying on the floor of that plane for the past two months."

She saw his face change. She stumbled on. "I can still feel that diamond pressing into my skin. I can feel the vomit on my lips. I can feel myself fighting my own body. I'm tired and my head hurts and I think I'm going to die, and so is she. And in a way, I think I did die. I'm not me anymore. I'm your wife, or I'm Tilly's mother." She shook her head. "And that's all I can think about now whenever you hold me. I'm defined by you. By our relationship. People think of me and they think of you immediately, but they can think of you without thinking of me. I'm your everything – to – me before I'm anyone else."

"Lori. You're scaring me."

She stood up. "I don't think I can do this."

He stood, too, his face pale. "Do…do what?"

"This. Us." She wiped her eyes. "I can't be your everything – to – me. I can't be _anything_ to you until I'm something to myself again. Until I'm Florence, before anyone else."

"I love you," he blurted, as if there were a million other things he wanted to say, but that one rushed to the forefront.

Her eyes were hot. Her heart almost couldn't beat, the constriction was so severe. She could barely get words out. "That's asking too much of me."

She had to go, had to get out, had to go _somewhere_ that wasn't here. She turned on her heel, heading for the door. She heard Sylvester call out her name. He called out again when she didn't answer. This time, she stopped, standing facing the door, her back to him. He spoke again.

"Is our marriage over?"

She knew she was making that face people made when they ugly cried. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. "Please don't ask me that."


	29. Chapter 29

**So…I vanished.**

**When I wrote the last chapter, I was intending to let that one sit for a week or so, because it was very hard to write, harder to edit, and my heart was just so heavy about it. I never intended to be gone a month. Depression is fun. I also went on a little soul searching trip that was also fun, the non sarcastic kind of fun. But when it's the time of year when your seasonal depression starts dating your clinical depression…well, I'm sure some of you get it, and it's just too hard to explain to those of you that don't. Just take our word for it that it sucks. But enough about me, back to (some of) our favorite geniuses.**

* * *

"_Then something new happened,_

_And turned my life around entirely,_

_Oh baby, you happened,_

_And look what happened to me."_

Ralph looked up from his laptop. "Daze, how much longer is this going to be going on? I only have another two hours to submit this code to the Initiative or they're going to go with Duncan. And I don't have to tell you again how much I hate Duncan."

"Ralph, my audition is in _three days_."

Ralph tapped the tips of his index fingers together. "Okay, but you do see how two hours is much less than three days, right?"

She grabbed her water bottle and took a sip. "The Prom has been my dream show for, like, ever, and now that it's got a revival I _finally_ have a shot and I'm running out of rehearsal time."

"Yes, I know, but again, two hours, three days…"

"I guess I could take a break. Maybe a joke break. Hey Ralph, why did the chicken cross the road?"

Ralph just raised his eyebrows.

"To get to the buzzkill's house," Daisy said.

"Do you mean buzzard? I don't get it."

She sighed, her bangs flying upward. "How about this one. Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"_The chicken_."

Ralph rolled his eyes. "Ha – ha."

"How about this. You can code until Patty comes home. But then I want to run through it one more time for her."

"Patty is going to be home in less than twenty minutes."

"Well then, you'd better get cracking, huh?"

Truth be told, Ralph didn't want to 'get cracking.' He wanted to get this done, submitted, and over with, and then on to the next job, the pile of repairs that had to be done by the time the students got back from break. He wanted to finish, but only because he didn't know how _not_ to work with computers. He was good at it. And once up on a time it was his favorite thing to do. Nowadays it felt more like going through the motions, a way to earn a paycheck, but it came so naturally to him that he usually didn't mind.

Tonight, however, he would put it off if he didn't have a deadline. He would close his laptop, stretch out on the couch, and watch Daisy Khan woo Patty Logan all over again with her best Alyssa Greene impression. Sometimes he thought back on the days when he had an intense crush on his best friend. That almost amused him now. He'd watched Patty fall in love, with Daisy and with herself, and there were no deeply repressed pangs of jealousy within him.

It was nice, to love one's friends like this. It was the kind of unconditional affection that movies and books rarely featured.

He didn't know why, but that thought made him suddenly miss his parents and sister. And those were pangs that _were_ real and deeply felt.

* * *

"Aunt Paigey, who is Charlie Daniels?"

"He's a singer," Paige said. "Country, Bluegrass music."

"A singer?" Tad used the corner of an envelope he was holding to get dirt out from under one of his nails.

"He has a big song about the devil visiting Georgia," Toby said, continuing in an exaggerated accent. "He was lookin' furra soul to steal…"

"Cute," Paige said sarcastically. She shifted on the couch, uncrossing her left leg over her right and crossing the right leg over. "Your dad is making a mess of Charlie Daniels' most famous song, called _The Devil Went Down to Georgia_."

"Georgia is a state," Tad said. "Did you know that?"

"I did. It's also a country."

"It's a state _and_ a country?"

"No. There's a state called Georgia and a country called Georgia."

"Hang on," Toby said. "I'm pulling up the song on my phone. You'll see I did the accent perfectly."

"You did not."

"Is it a good song?" Tad asked. "Or is it overrun?"

"If you're trying to quote Mama, you mean overrated," Toby said. "_The Devil Went Down to Georgia_ features a boy who makes a deal with the devil and _wins_. That's what the kids are calling, uh…" Toby snapped his fingers.

"Big Dick Energy," Walter said. "Though I'm not sure we should be using that phrase in front of the kid."

"You're the one who used it in front of the kid," Paige pointed out, gesturing with her head toward Tad.

"Yes! Right. Oops."

"Also the kids haven't said that since 2019," Paige said.

"Whatever." Walter shrugged. "Either way, you've completely misinterpreted that song."

"There's nothing to interpret," Paige said. "It's one of the most literal ballads."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Pride is one of what the religious call the seven deadly sins. So is greed. The devil approaches Georgie – "

"Johnny."

"And he says hey, here's an idea, I have this golden fiddle, and I'll give it to you if you play better than me. But if I win, then I get your soul. And Georgie – "

"Johnny."

"His name isn't relevant to this story, Paige," Walter said. "But sure, Johnny is like hey, it might be a sin but I'm the best player ever so I'm going to take you up on this. Kind of like if someone said to me hey, let's computer program together and see who wins."

"So far it sounds like we're all interpreting the song the saaaame way, Walt," Toby said.

"Except that the battle was never really about fiddle skill. It was about if he would let his pride overcome him – which he admits when he says it might be a sin – in order to get the golden fiddle, the desire for which is the second deadly sin, greed. The true test for Johnny's soul was whether or not the battle would commence in the first place. He lost the second he agreed to participate."

Toby and Paige glanced at each other. Then Toby cocked his head, looking back at Walter. "When did you get so…song analyze-y?"

"I'm married to an artist at heart," he said. "Eventually the right side of the old think tank was going to start working."

"I told you he hit his head a few too many times," Paige joked, pressing her lips together because joking about it was not helping her as she hoped it would.

"You know, not to be self – centered here," Sylvester said from his seat in Walter and Paige's recliner, "but the whole point of this lunch was to make _me_ feel better, and all that's happened is hacking security footage of Linda's speed dating event to see if my possibly soon to be ex wife is there and ruining one of the most well known songs in the country. And spending forty minutes to get Amber and Ellie down to nap, but I get that at least. Kids are going to kid."

"And Florence wasn't at the speed dating event," Toby said. "How does that not make you feel better?"

"I don't know." He shifted onto his side. "Maybe because it made me realize that the possibility existed. That we were looking because there was nothing to suggest she _wouldn't_ be there."

"It's only been a week," Paige said. "She'll come around."

"She's checked into a hotel in Long Beach. We've been to Long Beach. What could she be doing in Long Beach that she can't do anywhere else?"

"Isn't that the city where competitive Duck Duck Goose was born?" Toby asked. "She did say she needs space to figure some things out. Maybe she's decided to be a jock after all."

"Aren't you supposed to be a therapist?" Sylvester said. "She's in trouble. She's lost herself; she's shutting people out, our marriage might be over and you aren't helping either of us."

Toby sighed. "I'm sorry, Sly. I'm trying to be more of a friend here, than a professional. To both of you. In the past my…clinical side has done more harm than good. Cabe has surveillance on Florence, you know he won't let her come to any harm. Eventually, she'll look for help and we'll all be there with resources for her. But you of all people know how she's rejecting others initiating that for her right now. And hey, bright side, she was at work yesterday."

"And she left after forty minutes of awkward silences while we worked on opposite sides of the room."

"But it's something."

"It's something," Sylvester repeated, quietly, as if he wasn't fully convinced. "Something."

"Aunt Paigey? Why is the devil guy writing to Scorpion?"

Paige rubbed her temples. "What, Tad?"

Tad handed her the envelope he'd had in his hands, one corner dented. "This letter is to Scorpion, from Charlie Daniels."

"Oh, oh," Paige said. "No, Tad, this isn't _that_ Charlie Daniels. This is a different guy named Charlie Daniels. Like how there's a guy named Charlie Brown who works for a famous retired racehorse farm. Or how there's another Walter O'Brien who claims he caught a bad guy who hurt some people at the Boston Marathon, but that isn't your Uncle Walter. This Charlie Daniels is, oh god, he's this guy who has been looking into the accident with the plane we were in. He's affilia…he works with the science man with the money we were meeting with, do you remember that?"

Paige opened the envelope and pulled out the papers inside. She scanned the contents, then her eyes shot back up to the top to read more thoroughly.

A yelping sound rushed from her throat, and she slapped a hand over her mouth.


	30. Chapter 30

Television and movies liked showing couples falling asleep cuddling, and waking up the same way. It wasn't realistic, not for the majority. People slept in different positions, people liked their space, people were uncomfortable with shared body heat. Sylvester and Florence had rarely entered or exited sleep in each other's arms.

But now that she wasn't there, it felt like they had. Sylvester was so far removed from the old days, the days even before Scorpion was Scorpion when his anxiety controlled him, prevented him from making phone calls, kept him from those who might be his friends and left him lying awake at night feeling like every minute that passed was an hour, that he'd almost forgotten that insomnia was a part of that. He'd forgotten how long the night could feel, with no one to talk to until both voices faded out, with no reassuring presence sharing the space, with no periodic mattress shifts in the night as she rolled over, stretched, or otherwise stirred.

Now, it was still and quiet unless _he_ made things different. It was unnerving. It was lonely.

Sylvester got up, glancing behind him almost instinctively to make sure he hadn't disturbed her. Even as his head was swiveling to look back at the bed, he hated it, knowing that she wasn't there but failing to break the habit anyway. Crossing the room, he took the framed photo of him and Megan, stepping toward the window to allow the moonlight to fall on it.

Megan would know how to best help him. She'd either tell him what to do, how to handle it, or she'd tell him that she trusted him to know how to help himself. She had always been good at that, knowing what he was capable of and knowing when it was her turn to provide. It was a skill – or perhaps a natural inclination – that drove home what Walter had always said about her: that she was a genius, not like him, but in her own way.

"I don't know if I know how to do this," he whispered, looking down at the photograph. He had no doubt that had Megan lived, she is who he would be married to now. He wouldn't have left her for Florence. But he also knew, that had Florence entered his life anyway, that they would have become the best of friends. He would still want to help her if she was hurting. He would still want to be in her life.

But now, the lines were blurred. Now he wasn't a friend that could reach out. He wasn't a third party that she could rely on. He was her husband, at least for the moment, and any attempt to get through to her would be a direct violation of what she wanted. He had somehow become part of the reason she had lost herself.

They had been apart once before, when he hadn't wanted to be. That had been different. That had been before they were together. Back then, he thought things couldn't get worse. Then, against all odds, they'd come together. Her crush on Walter had faded and developed into a crush on him. It had blossomed, intensified, overcome, and then they both knew what it was like to be together, a unit, a partnership. He knew what she could give him, and she knew what he could give her. He had been prepared to be whatever she needed him to be, to stand by her side through anything. The poets said having something and losing it was better than all the 'what ifs' that would come with never having a chance. That was no comfort to Sylvester. At least if he and Florence had never had their chance, he wouldn't feel like what he had to give wasn't enough.

He supposed, maybe, that that wasn't fair. She said she needed to learn to not rely on him. She loved him so much that she forgot how to exist without him. Maybe that ought to make him feel good, to be loved with such intensity, but what kind of a husband was he to take her identity from her? He suddenly felt guilt for every time Scorpion had gone to a party or event and he'd introduced her by placing "my wife" before her name. He'd been proud to do that, look at my wife, my accomplished wife, my strong wife, my hero wife, how lucky I am to call her my wife. Walter and Paige glowed when one introduced the other that way. So did Happy and Toby; Toby shined more than the other three put together. Those four, for all their struggles, disagreements, and past fractures, had managed to figure it out. Sylvester had thought that he and Florence were there, too.

He was awake the rest of the night, the photo face down on his stomach, as he stared at the ceiling and wondered where he'd gone wrong.

The moon shining through the window was well on its way to being replaced by sun when he realized the common denominator in both of his falling outs with the chemist.

* * *

Paige knew the little things in a relationship were often the most important. The quality time together. The just being present, regardless of how momentous the occasion was.

In theory, she should be content with making out in the kitchen until the water boiled. And usually, she would be. But the situations they were living within prevented that. She was torn. Torn between worrying about his health, frustration at their nonexistent sex life, and hurt at the pro forma way he was kissing her, hands awkwardly to the side like the first time they kissed. Oh, and guilt. Because she knew she shouldn't blame him for his lack of focus and enthusiasm. Because his brain was damaged. And she didn't know how much it would improve, if at all.

To be fair, it was also a bit hard to get _her _to focus, her mind still spinning from the letter from Investigator Daniels.

…_that the team lead by Marcie Lucas is responsible for the crash. While it is believed that most of the staff involved in the attack thought they were aiming for an unmanned target, we have not been able to rule out Lucas herself being aware that it was Scorpion's chartered plane, nor have we been able to determine whether or not Lucas was the one who ordered the attack._

The counter was pressing against her back in a way that was uncomfortable, so Paige placed her hands on the edge and lifted herself up, scooting backward slightly so she was sitting solidly on the surface. Walter stepped closer, and she wrapped both arms around his neck. He put his hands on her thighs, still a slightly awkward position, but at least he was touching her. "I like that," she whispered between kisses, wanting to encourage him, to let him know that he shouldn't feel bad, that what he was doing was enough.

The first half of that was true, anyway.

…_we have not been able to rule out Lucas herself being aware that it was Scorpion's chartered plane…_

Walter pulled back slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "Are you okay?" She asked, grabbing the wrist of his free hand.

"Yeah." He shook his head slightly. "Yeah, just got a…" He squeezed his eyes shut again, his hand still in place. "Blood leaving my head, I guess, whew." He shook his head again, and then opened his eyes and smiled at her. "It's okay."

"I worry about you so much." Her pent up frustrations were fading, replaced with concern. "Walt…"

He set his jaw. She could tell he was trying not to get angry. He'd been very irritable the past few weeks, the major evidence being their fight while out with Amber. His injury was hard to process, she knew that even though he wasn't talking much about it with her, and she appreciated that he was able to recognize when the mood swings were getting the better of him, and doing his best not to take it out on her. She reached up, placing a hand gently on the side of his face. "Love, do – "

"Come out!"

Both Walter and Paige jumped.

"Come out!"

"Christ on a bike," Paige said, putting a hand on her forehead. "She scares me with that every time."

She slid off the counter, heading for Amber's room, and just as she expected, the toddler was standing on her bed, hands on top of the crib like guard rail that prevented her from falling in the night. She grinned, banging her hands on the rail. "Come out!"

"Okay, we'll get you out." Paige undid the safety latches and removed the safety guard. "Come on. Do you need to use the potty?"

"Yes, mama."

"Kay. Come with me. Do you want to do it by yourself?"

"Yes."

Paige pushed open the bathroom door. "I'll wait out here. You let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"Paige?" Walter called from the kitchen. "The water is boiling, I put the eggs in."

"Thank you!" She called back.

There was a sudden banging sound, and Paige frowned. "Walter?" For a moment, alarm returned to her, fearful that he had fallen. Then she was able to pinpoint the sound. Someone was banging on the door.

Cabe. Tilly. Something had happened. The knock was not the professional _tap tap tap_ of a delivery person. She raced down the hall, but Walter had reached the door first and was already opening it.

Walter's body came flying backward as if he'd been shot from an arrow. He collided with Paige, who managed to catch him under his arms and prevent him from falling backward. Sylvester was nearly on top of them, bellowing something she couldn't make out. Before he could lunge again, as he caught himself on the wing wall, Walter was on his feet, shouting back. _What? What is it? What is it?_

"You homewrecker!" Sylvester shouted. He was red in the face, sweat was on his brow, and Paige, startled, struggled to process what was happening. She was frozen, her usual talents as mediator buffering, and she found herself unable to do anything but take in the scene in front of her.

"What are you talking about?" Walter shouted back.

"It's your fault! It's always your fault! Every time she leaves, it's because of _you!_"

"_What_?" Walter said again, his voice almost coming out in a screech.

"Florence! I was going to ask her out, but she liked _you_ instead! She started doubting our relationship while _you _and Paige were pregnant! And we already had so much going on with Tilly, and then you _had _to unload all your problems on her, and she leaves me _the same day._"

"Your wife is depressed," Walter said. "It has nothing to do with _me_."

"Then explain why the _only_ common thread in our relationship problems is you. Explain it, Walter." Sylvester paused for the briefest of moments. "See? You _can't_!"

He sprang forward again. Walter put out his arms to block, and they both fell backward against the couch, causing it to move forward several inches.

"Sly, stop it!" Paige said, snapping out of her freeze and pulling on the back of his shirt. "Sly! _Sly_!" She forced herself between the two men, making Sylvester straighten and back off. His eyes were wild, the tension in his jaw showing how upset he was. "Sylvester, take a deep breath."

"He ruined – "

"_Stop_ it."

"But you! Aren't you wondering what's going on?"

"Nothing is going on. Not with them. Come on, Sly, if I'm no longer paranoid about it, you sure as Hell shouldn't be. _I'm_ the irrationally jealous one on this team, remember?" She could hear Walter behind her, staggering to his feet. "Sly, what's going on with you and her is complicated. You have to try to look at their conversation as what it would have been if she wasn't going through everything else. He was concerned he was acting inappropriately around her without realizing it and was trying to apologize. Whatever realizations it assisted her in coming to, they were likely things she was struggling with anyway. And based on what you told me about that conversation, I think you know that. This whole situation with you and her? It sucks," Paige said. "Point blank. It sucks. And we're all rooting for her to feel better, for you guys to get back together, but…" She shook her head. "We can't blame each other. We have to support each other. No matter what."

"Of course you would take his side," Sylvester said. "You're his wife. You're Walter and Paige. You have it allllll figured out."

"Ha!" Paige said, a bit more forcefully than she had expected.

Walter looked at her. "What does _that_ mean?"

"You think we're perfect? When we snap at each other? When we can't be intimate? When we've stopped talking about anything but work because anything else feels too real, but when we do talk about work you get frustrated because of your memory and headaches? We're a shell of what we were, Walter, and I know you're trying and I know things aren't your fault, but to say we're living in some beautiful utopia just because one of us hasn't walked out yet is grossly inaccurate."

Walter stared at her. "What do you mean, one of us hasn't walked out _yet_?"

"I know you've told Toby that sometimes you think I deserve better."

"He told you?"

"No. You said it in your sleep. You gave me the whole conversation. Unconscious Walter does a pretty good imitation of Toby, actually. It's almost unnerving. But how can you think that when..."

"I must be doing something wrong, since you don't trust me."

Paige blinked. "Who says I don't trust you?"

"You don't let me do anything without harping on me about my head."

"Because I'm _worried_ about you!" She felt tears threatening in the corners of her eyes. "Don't you understand? I love you so damn much and I want to spend decades with you but half the things you want to do are dangerous, especially to someone with a TBI. I can't bear the thought of losing you, Walt. Even if it means you stop being by my side on cases. Even if it means we never have sex again. I don't care about that. I just want Amber to know her father, even if he isn't exactly the same as he was before."

"Must be nice to have someone to worry so much about you," Sylvester said. "And you're going around destroying _other people's_ marriages without a care in the world."

"That is not fair and you – " Walter started.

"That is so goddamn uncalled for," Paige snapped at Sylvester. "I know you're going through stuff right now, but don't project your own issues onto someone who they don't apply to."

"A bit ironic, you giving the lecture on that, don't you think?" Sylvester asked.

Paige opened her mouth to respond, but Sylvester was already shaking his head, moving for the door. "You know what? Screw you guys. Screw you guys, screw Toby and Happy, screw the damn parrot, screw this whole freaking situation. Screw it!" He crossed the threshold, then stopped and turned, reaching for the door knob. "_In the butt_!"

The door slammed shut a split second before a laugh escaped Paige. Walter looked at her, seemingly startled. "What's funny?"

"Nothing." She put a hand over her eyes. "It's just…you know how when something comes out of someone's mouth and you would…never have expected to hear it from that person specifically? That's what…ugh," she shook her head. "Nothing's funny."

"That," Walter said, "makes at least one thing we can agree on."


	31. Chapter 31

**Yes. Another update so quickly. That's what happens when you get laid off from a job you've had 13 years, you find yourself with a fuck ton of free time (am I angry and bitter? A little bit.) and you use that free time to immerse yourself in one of your favorite fictional worlds.**

**I've been giving you a lot of Sad and Bad lately in this story (don't say I didn't warn you, though). So for a slight change, here's some…not so sad and not so bad. Life takes time to work itself out sometimes, but you know these characters. They always get there. They just sometimes spend some time in the dark.**

* * *

"Oh good," Toby said when he entered the garage with Happy just behind him. "You're here."

"I wish I wasn't," Sylvester grumbled. "But if I don't work, I'll go crazy."

"So this…isn't crazy?" Happy asked, gesturing toward him.

"Not quite," he said through clenched teeth. "Though – I swear to God, Toby, if you yak at that bird right now I will turn you into a rug."

"I won't tell Super Fun Guy that you love him," Toby said. "One day, you'll learn to tell him yourself. But listen, buddy," he said in a low voice when Sylvester's eyes narrowed and he turned back to the chalkboard. "Paige told me about…yesterday morning. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Do you think maybe you should talk about it?"

"No."

"Sly."

Sylvester put the chalk down and looked at him. "I don't want to talk about it because I'm embarrassed. I got into this weird…physical persona and I still haven't snapped out of it. It's not who I am, and I hate that Walter made me – "

"Okay," Toby said, "but _did_ he make you?"

Sylvester looked away again. "Every time something goes wrong with Florence and I, he's always right there in it."

"He does not have feelings for her."

"I know that. And don't bother telling me she doesn't have feelings for him, because I know that, too. But not every problem has to have romantic roots."

"And not everything has to be a cause of a problem," Toby said. "Do you really think if Florence wasn't going through everything else, she would have still left you over Walter mistaking her for his sister? You can't blame the straw when the camel's back buckles."

"Do you know why they can't start building a real case against Marcie Lucas and her team?" Sylvester said, turning to face him. "Do you?" Toby and Happy both gave small, solemn nods, but he continued anyway. "Because they don't know yet if they'll be including homicide in the charges." He bit his lip. "They can't move forward until Tilly is discharged or…or until she…"

Happy stepped around Toby and threw her arms around her friend. "It's going to be the former, Sly."

"She had to have the oxygen tube put in again yesterday," Sylvester said. "I missed the call about it because I was…because I went to the beach after…"

"That happens, sometimes," Toby said. "Sometimes they just want to give them a little nudge. It happens with adults, too."

"I know that. But she's my daughter. It's so much worse now that I have a daughter."

Both halves of Quinn – Curtis knew what he meant by that, the _it_ that was worse. They knew _it_ from being parents themselves, and they knew Walter in particular was struggling with _it _when it came to Amber struggling to learn things.

_It_ would never fully go away.

"We're here for you, Sly Dog," Toby said. "And we'll be there for her, too, when she's ready."

"I worry about her," Sylvester said quietly. "She comes to work, but she leaves, she doesn't engage in anything, she…I have you guys. She doesn't have anyone." His lip trembled. "I just want her to be okay. With or without me. She's more important than us. But…" He took in a deep, labored breath. "I just want her to be okay."

* * *

"_Sing. Sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strong. Sing of good things, not bad. Sing of happy, not sad."_

The tensions of the past few months, boiling over the last forty – eight hours, were taking a toll on their daughter. Paige and Walter had spoken, briefly, earlier as they grabbed breakfast and rushed to work, about making more of an effort to make sure Amber didn't have to bear the weight of all that was going on around her.

"_Sing. Sing a song. Make it simple, to last your whole life long._"

She slowly rubbed the toddler's back. Maybe Tilly needed more oxygen. Maybe Florence felt lost. Maybe Ralph was hundreds of miles away. Maybe Walter worried when Amber cried whenever they talked about green or purple. She wasn't even three yet. She shouldn't have to worry about any of that.

"_Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing. Sing a song."_

It was her fourth time through the song. Halfway through the third, Amber hadn't tried to do the _la la-la la las,_ and Paige could tell by her stillness and the slow tempo of her breathing that the girl had fallen asleep. "I love you, baby girl," she whispered before rising.

She headed back into the living room, where Walter was finishing tidying up Amber's toys. "She's using the mirror as an ice skating rink now," he said. "Like in the movie, she says. I don't know what movie she is talking about."

"I don't, either," Paige said. "At least it hasn't got scratches on it." The mirror was one of hers, from when she was growing up. She didn't have a dresser with one, so her father had gotten this one, with a stand, to prop on it. She ran her finger around the edge fondly. "I remember when I got this. It was the best gift I'd ever gotten that I knew for a fact wasn't stolen or scammed." She set it on the desk by the window, catching her reflection as she gazed down. "Wow, I look old," she said with a laugh.

"You are not old," Walter said, standing up and fitting the lid back on the toy box.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," she said. "Just that I'm starting to show it. I'm _forty_, Walter." Walter walked up behind her, lowering his head to rest his chin on her shoulder, watching their reflections in the mirror.

He slid his arms around her waist. "You're beautiful," he said. "No matter how old you are or how old you feel. And even when you're mad at me."

She smiled, chuckling a bit, sliding a hand up to the side of his face. He kissed her cheek, his thumb gently rubbing her side. It was fairly basic affection for them, so she surprised herself when a small, barely audible gasp escaped her, only fully realizing in that moment just how touch starved she was. Walter ran his hands over her stomach and back to her sides, wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her cheek again. Paige knew he would be able to feel her trembling, and she was almost embarrassed. He had an injury, a potentially dangerous one, she'd promised him she would put his healing first and here she was, betraying herself with how much she craved his touch.

Walter shifted his weight and kissed her neck, his fingers slowly stroking her belly through her top. She flashbacked to the weeks they were marooned, newly a couple and unable to do anything about it. _Mama's a little pent up_, she'd whispered to him. They were years removed from that, but man, did she remember exactly how that felt.

Perhaps it was even worse now, because she knew what they were like together.

"You know how much I love it when you do that," she murmured. _What are you doing? Don't encourage him. It's selfish of you._

"I do know that," he said, chuckling against her neck before kissing her there again. Paige closed her eyes, a tiny moan deep in her throat. Then, one of his hands slid upward from her stomach, and she gasped again, pressing her back hard against his chest and moaning louder, her mouth remaining open to pant as his hands continued to caress her.

She breathed his name, opening her eyes ever so slightly, finding being able to see what he was doing via the mirror so incredibly titillating. "You're such a tease."

One of his hands left her, disappearing between them, and then she saw his belt sliding out of the loops. "Not a tease," he mumbled in her ear, "if I follow through."

His trousers moved over his hips, disappearing from the view of the mirror. One of his hands trailed up and down her thigh. _Brain injuries can have a severe impact on libido. If you wish to continue sexual activity, it is often best to take advantage of moments where the party with the brain injury is in the mood. _Paige remembered those words, but the ones jumping out at her most were _brain injury. _She put a hand over the one of his attending to her breasts. "Walter, we can't."

"I'll be fine," he said. "Trust me."

It _could _be_ dangerous_. And small percentages always seemed to happen to them when it was not something good. She knew he could feel her hesitating, and as soon as his hands left her, she regretted saying anything at all. But _he_ didn't leave. He still stood close behind her, watching her in the mirror. "Do you want to stop?"

"No," she blurted, turning her head to see him, not his reflection.

"Well then," he said, putting his hands back on her hips, kissing her again, on the lips this time. She faced the mirror again when he moved back to her neck.

He slid a hand downward, then back, pushing her skirt up. She bent slightly, curled her hands around the edge of the desk, and trusted him.


	32. Chapter 32

**Shorter chapter. I already have most of the next one written and edited - the next chapter is one of my favorite chapters I've ever written across more than a million words of published fanfiction; I'm not going to claim it's the _best_, but it's one I personally enjoy. **

**F****or that reason, because this chapter is one of the first I wrote for this fic way back before chapter one was even published, and because of the content of this one and the way it ends, I feel it is best this singular scene stands on its own.**

* * *

Florence didn't know what had happened, but in addition to her and Sylvester avoiding each other at work – with the exception of formalities – he and Walter were also walking on eggshells around each other. She thought she might be at the core of what happened between them. Maybe she was just being paranoid. She always thought bad things happening were her fault.

And it was hard to convince herself otherwise when so many times, in so many ways, they were.

She'd made an appointment to see a…a lawyer. She didn't want to think about what kind of lawyer it was. She wasn't even sure why she made the appointment. She was in no state to actually go through with anything, and she knew she wasn't in a state to know whether or not it was what she really wanted. She'd missed the appointment. She'd been so embarrassed about it that she made another appointment with another…lawyer. She'd missed that one, too. She hadn't made another appointment. But she knew which firm she was contacting when she had the guts again.

Or when she had the strength. She thought, maybe, that this was the right thing to do. But it didn't make it easy. It also didn't make it what she wanted.

_You have to be strong. You can't lose yourself any more than you already have._

What would Tilly think, if she lived? Would she think that her mother had abandoned her? Would she think she'd done something wrong? What would her father tell her?

She couldn't think about that – not now, not after she'd broken a nail trying to turn off the car radio when _that story _came on again.

They'd had a case at a hospital the previous day – not the one Tilly was at. Something was coming through the pipes and disrupting air quality, and Scorpion had to find it and fix it. That was easy enough, at least for Scorpion – the drama had come from a man rushing in while they were working shouting about his twins not breathing. Toby had rushed to his aid, while Happy had pulled Florence away, shouting about something going wrong, needing the chemist's help to fix it. Florence knew that Happy was trying to distract her, but she went with it. It wasn't a job that required her specifically, but Happy _did_ need an extra pair of hands.

The twins had not made it. Florence hadn't been privy to that information until she heard the story on the radio. The way they'd spoken about…

_I would never. Why would they say something like that?_

She got out of the car, heading for her lab, needing the distraction work would provide. She'd turned around to head back as soon as she'd heard the story. She couldn't sit in that hotel room. She was sharing the room with thoughts she couldn't bear.

"Florence?"

She was startled, and opened her mouth to ask what the Hell Walter was doing in her lab. Then, everything came into focus, and she realized where she was. _Wrong door._ "Oh…sorry." She cleared her throat, turning to go.

"You've been crying."

She stopped.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Not even with someone you know is as messed up with emotions as you are?"

"Those twins died," she said, still facing the door.

Walter gave a slow nod. She couldn't see him, but she knew he did. It was what he did. What he would do, in a situation like this. "Yes."

"They think the mother did it. She suffocated them, they're saying. They revived them…" Florence stopped to compose herself, "but they had severe brain damage. One died…naturally, if you can call it that. The other was taken off life support." She gasped in another attempt to keep control. "They said the mother was…she couldn't handle it. She was sad and resented them and…and she killed them. In a fog, they said. She hadn't seen them in three weeks, and then when she did…" Tears leaked out. She could feel her heart rate increasing. "I would never hurt my baby." She whirled to face Walter. "I might be a terrible mother, but I wouldn't hurt her! Why do they think I'd hurt her?"

"Florence…"

"I don't understand." Her hands were shaking. "Why would they say that?" She could feel herself growing more frantic. The solace she'd sought by coming back to a professional environment was not coming to her.

"Florence, they aren't talking about you. No one is saying you would hurt Tilly. No one thinks you would."

"I wouldn't _ever_ hurt Tilly!" Florence said, tears flowing freely, her body wanting to shake. She took a few steps toward Walter, almost stumbling, then stopped, covering her face with her hands. "I don't go to see her but that _doesn't_ mean I'd hurt her! Why do they think I'd hurt her?"

She couldn't see Walter, with her hands covering her eyes, but she could hear him crossing the space between them. Then she felt…solid. Solidness. His arms around her, his chest providing something for her to bury her head into. She sobbed violently.

She didn't know how long they stood there before there was the slight, unmistakable creek of the door opening. Her next sense to kick into action was her hearing, as Paige's voice reached her ears. "Walt, Kovelsky's said they don't have…"

Paige trailed off, and there was a crackling as a bag was set down. Florence knew she was surveying the sight in front of her. Then her footsteps filled the space, and Florence felt _her _arms, _her_ chest, Paige's body coming up behind the smaller woman, sandwiching her between them.

No one said anything. They just held on.


	33. Chapter 33

They climbed to the loft.

Not Walter – he went to go get Amber. He'd offered to stay; Allie was always delighted to add one of the grandchildren to her and Cabe's nightly tradition of Movie Time. But Paige had said no, go get her, "and please don't put her through any tests when you get her home. She's probably tired."

Walter looked like he wanted to protest, but his Adam's Apple bobbed, he pressed his lips together, and said, "yes, dear."

"Tests?" Florence had asked.

"Those sorts of things you do with toddlers, games that are fun for them but show the parent or care giver how much they've learned."

"Ah."

The fourth stair from the top creaked badly. It had been the noisy stair as long as Florence could remember, but it was much louder now.

"Hello, weirdos."

Both Paige and Florence ignored Super Fun Guy's greeting. While most of the things he said were taught by Toby, most of which were used to torment Sylvester, that little bit of the bird's training had been Happy's doing.

"Okay," Paige said, pulling a chair out from the desk and gesturing toward it. Florence didn't move. Paige raised her eyebrows and gestured again. Florence sat. Paige pulled another chair from the corner, the rolling one, and sank down onto it. "I think we're alone, now."

Florence suddenly felt uncomfortable. Paige wanted to talk about things. She didn't want to talk about things.

"Do you want to talk about things?" Paige asked.

Maybe she needed to talk about things.

"I know Toby's the therapist and Walter's brain is most closely wired with yours, but I've been told I'm a good listener."

"I don't know how much help you could be," Florence said. "No offense."

"None taken. But can I ask that you try me, first?"

"I just don't know what you could do. I've lost myself, my identity. I've let myself be defined by my relationships to other people. And until I can figure out who I am without them, I don't think anyone can help me."

Paige was quiet a long moment. "Can you name ten facts about me?" She asked.

"Of course. Would you like them alphabetical, or in the order they come to me?"

Paige gave a little laugh. "Order they come to you is fine."

"Okay. You like to sing. You're good at it. You prioritize safety over bells and whistles when it comes to your vehicle. You're fluent in Spanish. You used to like going to the beach but now it makes your survival instincts kick in, so it's not relaxing. You're a good swimmer. You like cinnamon in your coffee. You love wearing rings. Sometimes you stick your finger into the peanut butter jar. You like to dance, but you're not very good at it." Florence paused, counting in her head. "Oh, that was eleven things. I've failed the challenge."

Paige shook her head, smiling. "No, that's good. Did you notice that nothing you just said involved my relationship to any one person?"

"Oh. Sorry. You're married to Walter. You have two children. One is a twenty – "

"No, no, no," Paige said, shaking her head. "You've pulled away from Sylvester because you think you aren't a person without him. But you love chemistry. You like to be in shape, but you hate jocks. You mainly just go to Kovelsky's for their fries. You're a big fan of puns. And science jokes. You don't like the nickname Flo because the Smash Mouth song came out when you were ten and people started using it to joke that you were a lesbian and that turned into bullying, and now you still don't like the nickname but you've decided you do like the song. You have a soft spot for dogs. You love ice cream. See? I can rattle these things off. Things that have nothing to do with your relationship to Sylvester. Or any of us, really."

"It doesn't…bother you when you're introduced as Walter's wife?"

"Being Walter's wife is one of my favorite things, Florence."

Florence knew that was true, even though anyone with an I.Q. greater than zero could tell that his diagnosis had strained them somewhat. She recalled a conversation she had with Walter and her and Sylvester's wedding. They'd talked about how both of them were, to many people, not fit for marriage. Or even for close friendships. Society considered them obligate weirdos. Obligate loners. They'd both gotten married not due to finding someone to pity them, but because their spouses wanted them just as much. Paige knew how much she'd helped Walter become a better person, but she also considered herself so very lucky that the man who hadn't believed in love but still had so much love to give had fallen in love with her. And then he'd learned how to use that love to make _her_ better, to balance out their weaknesses with their strengths. Paige's relationship made her more of herself, not less.

"How do you do it?"

"Firstly, I'm healthy. I know it's none of my business, but you aren't." Paige raised her eyebrows. "And one thing I've learned from my years of being a single parent is that sometimes, relationships with other people _should_ be the most important thing. Because they aren't all created equal. I'm a mother. So is my mother. But she was manipulative and often absent. There are mothers, but there are good mothers, bad mothers, attentive mothers, selfish mothers, mothers that are failing but still try. I don't mean this in some anti-feminist 'women should want to be a good wife and mother above all else' way. I mean that whether you want to be a successful business person, or scientist, or pilot or FBI agent or anything else, or none of those things at all, who is there for you when you come home at the end of the day? Can you call the name plate by your door when you have an unexpected expense and need to word vomit? Can your six – figure car hold you when you're scared? Will your landscaper visit you in the nursing home?" Paige licked her lips. "It doesn't have to be romantic relationships. Some people do fine without them. Or paternal or maternal. Some folks never have those, either. But you have to have _somebody._ Our relationships with other people – even down to as simply as how we react when we accidentally bump someone in a crowded hallway – is what defines us. And it's what we should be most proud of. At least, that's what I think. Being a good person, having a circle. When I run into people from the restaurant, or old clients of Scorpion, they ask about Ralph. And I could tell them all the successful things he's done, or mention his relationship when he's in one, because that's what everyone expects. They ask about your children and you start rattling off their accomplishments, giving their damn resume to people who they may not even remember ever meeting, ticking off as many imaginary boxes as you can to make them fit into the cookie cutter idea of what's successful. Schooling, job, partner, kids. It's stupid."

Florence couldn't help but wonder if Paige's passion on this topic had anything to do with Walter's obsession with what percentile Amber's cognitive development was in.

Paige continued. "When people ask about Ralph I tell them what a compassionate person he is. I tell them how glad I am that he and Patty are such good friends. I tell them he's kind. I express how lucky I am to have him in my life. And you know what they always do? They ask if he's seeing anyone. They ask if he wants kids. They ask what his current position is and if there's room for advancement – and then they suggest different ways he can advance, people they can put him in contact with, like his whole damn purpose is to level up, level up, level up. Relationship, career, your current state is not enough, you always need to be _more._ Well, we're all trapped on this godforsaken rock hurtling through space and none of us are getting out alive. We have to do what makes us happy, and be with who makes the hard parts easier. Having someone to lean on doesn't make you weak. We all have weaknesses, and we all have weak moments. They're going to happen whether we let everyone in or shut everyone out. And I know I'd rather have someone to help me than have to face everything alone." Paige had been leaning forward as she spoke, but now she sat up straight, stretching her back. She settled back down. "If you decide Sylvester isn't that person, I understand. If you decide that person is actually multiple people, I understand. If you want that person to be one or more of us, same thing. Your support system doesn't have to include romance at all. But I think tonight has shown that you need _something_. I think we all do." She reached out, taking one of Florence's hands. Florence tensed, but only momentarily. She'd realized when Walter held her how much she missed contact with other human beings. "You can stay here tonight. I know you've been hopping between places. Please stay here, get some rest, where we know where you are. We want you to be safe, Florence. If we can't help you be happy right now, at least let us help you be safe.

She didn't want to stay here. She wanted Sylvester. She wanted to go to the apartment and be held by him. She wanted to forget the past few weeks had happened, to undo them entirely.

But was that smart? Was that right for her? She still felt lost. And now she was wondering if Sylvester would even still want her, would be able to forgive her for something like this. What if she thought things through, decided the life she wanted to live was the life she was considering giving up, but that life wasn't an option for her anymore.

Paige rose. "I'll get you something warm to drink. And I'll be back in the morning, before work hours. I'm sure no one will mind if you need some more time off. We're in limbo anyway, while we wait on the answers."

The answers about the plane crash. The answer of whether or not homicide would be one of the charges. The answers on if Tilly would make it.

Florence knew what Paige meant by _the answers_. She was grateful to Paige for not stating them.

Paige disappeared down the stairs. Florence pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them, wishing something would break the silence, because it was loud enough to make her head want to explode.

A chirp did it, and it made her jump. She'd forgotten the bird was there. He was looking at her, his head cocked. "Remember," he said. "Sylvester loves you."


	34. Chapter 34

**I'll spare you all the 'woe is me' story and just say I'm sorry for the delay (for those of you waiting on the final chapter of Just Enough...I've been working on it for months. I suck. I'm sorry.)**

** Trigger warnings for mentions of gun violence in this chapter, and for otherwise implied injury.**

* * *

Ralph didn't understand why they couldn't just be inside. The college had a perfectly good stage in there. Of course, the outdoor one, positioned so the performance area was ten feet above the audience assembled in chairs and cross legged on the lawn, was also stellar, with space on either side and behind for the performers to hang out when not performing. People loved going to concerts outside.

Ralph, not the indoor cat his mother used to joke that he was, still preferred that events with a lot of food took place away from insects' natural habitat.

Or rather, "food."

"This is tasteless popcorn."

Patty rolled her eyes. "It's for charity, Ralph."

"But if they invested just a little bit more in their concessions, it would taste many times better, allowing for a higher price point, which then results in a higher profit."

"Bring that up to the Green Room Committee at their next meeting," Patty said, reaching into the container.

"I will. You think I'm joking."

"You are joking."

"I don't even know when they meet," he admitted, acknowledging she'd called his bluff.

They meandered up toward the stage, stopping in the second section from the front. The very front section was low, and with the way the stage was built, the people way up by the front almost couldn't see the performers unless they were right up at the edge. The second section, where Ralph and Patty settled in the second row, was higher up on the hill, giving them a good view of the stage while still being able to remain sitting and see over the heads of those standing up front. They picked at the popcorn, making small talk until the spotlights darkened and one of the senior performers walked out onto stage to thunderous applause.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome, I'm Colt Wheeler, and this is the fourth annual Rayburn Community College Cares charity event, raising money to help victims of gun violence following the tragic shooting on our main campus in 2018. I do realize the irony of a guy named Colt being the host of such event, but rest assured, the only thing I'm packing is…"

Colt's mouth continued moving, but no sound could be heard. He frowned, turned toward those managing the sound, and threw up his hands. They exchanged words, then Colt cleared his throat, the microphone back on. "Sorry, they assumed I was about to make a crude joke and cut my mic, what I was _saying_ is the only thing I'm packing is a ton of great music into the schedule for tonight." He raised an eyebrow dramatically at the sound guys. "See? You made it weird."

There was scattered laughter in the audience.

"To open, I want to introduce some lovely people who have all graduated by now, but who have returned to Rayburn, Texas from their successful post college lives to reprise their roles to sing for this cause, give it up for our 2020 _In The Heights _production!"

The audience went wild. The college theater had put on the show just months before the release of the movie, and the cast had become immensely popular, almost like superstars in the town. It was before Ralph and Patty had moved there – Scorpion had still been piecing itself back together in 2020 – but they'd have had to live under a rock to not know about it, even if Daisy hadn't come into their lives.

"Remind me what song this is?" Ralph whispered to Patty.

"Uh…"

"96,000," said the girl in front of them, turning around and smiling in a way that made it impossible to tell if she was happy to help or judging them for not knowing.

"Thanks," Patty said. She offered Ralph the popcorn. He shook his head. "Whatever. More for me, then."

"Shhhhh" chided the woman next to Patty.

Patty opened her mouth as if to reply, then shrugged and faced front. She _had_ been talking during the performance.

The next two numbers were unfamiliar to Ralph, and then the audience went wild as Phoebe Meyers came on stage. She'd been an ensemble member of Rayburn productions until a video of her singing from _Beauty and the Beast_ went viral on YouTube. She was currently starring in _Chicago_ on Broadway, but everyone knew before the music even started that she was going to sing the song that propelled her into the limelight from her bedroom in 2023.

"_Tale as old as time,_

_True as it can be,_

_Barely even friends,_

_Then somebody bends,_

_Unexpectedly…"_

Patty offered the popcorn to Ralph again. This time, he took it. Phoebe was swaying to the music, her dress gliding back and forth as if it was an animated ensemble created to move impossibly. Of course she'd made it. She had a way about her.

"_Ever just the same._

_Ever a surprise._

_Ever as before;_

_Ever just as sure as the sun will rise…"_

The audience started applauding, even though the song wasn't over. They _lived_ for Phoebe Meyers. There was an oil painting of her in the school's hallway near the auditorium.

Phoebe let the last line hang in the hair, drawing it out, drawing a roar from the concert – goers right along with it. Ralph and Patty clapped along. Ralph wasn't a theater person; Patty was compared to him, but not next to most of the other people here. But they knew the talent in front of them. And Ralph, being his mother's son, knew how to appreciate a good singing voice. Phoebe Meyers was, in a way, who Paige Dineen could have been, had things worked out just a little differently.

Colt came back out onstage. "That was beautiful, Phoebe. I'm reminded of how I felt when we all crowded around Jeremy Phipps' phone two years ago watching and going 'wow' why did we only make her the officiant in _Waitress_?"

"You are too sweet, Colt," she said, slinging her arm loosely around his shoulders. Ralph hadn't realized how tall she was. "I would like to take this moment to thank you all for the wonderful applause, and I will also be matching, up to five thousand dollars, the funds raised here tonight. No parent should have to stress about medical bills for their child, especially not when they were so gravely injured at school or in church."

The audience applauded again, almost with more vigor than before. By comparison, the next song almost seemed to be a lull, which wasn't fair, since the two newest breakout members of the theater group did a wonderful job with _Light My Candle._ Upon consulting his program, Ralph noted that Layla Barajas would be back later in the night to perform Mimi's iconic song.

Next was Louie Westing – Daisy's ex, Ralph had learned just that morning – performing Aaron Burr's solo from _Hamilton._ The song gave Ralph a warm feeling inside – _and if there's a reason I'm by her side when so many have tried, then I'm willing to wait for it_, reminded him of his parents. And he'd heard Toby quote that very line to Happy, too. It made him almost homesick.

"Daisy is coming up," Patty said, grinning and bouncing in her seat. "Soon."

"Yep," Ralph said. Just the other day, Daisy had gotten the part she'd auditioned for. She was headed to New York in just a few days. Ralph was impressed at how supportive Patty was, considering she was about to enter a long distance relationship. "I'll still have my best buddy," she'd said, grinning and attempting to give Ralph a knuckle sandwich. He'd joked that he wouldn't mind if she took off too, but in reality, he'd miss her way, way too much.

The next song was another one Ralph didn't know. Then Colt came back on stage from the waiting areas on the side. "Thank you, everyone. Remember, the 50/50 raffle will still be selling tickets for another twenty minutes. Isn't all this music great so far?" The crowd cheered. It was getting crowded – not everyone knew that _In The Heights_ would be performing first, but it was common knowledge that Phoebe Meyers needed to catch a flight back to New York, preventing her from closing out the show, and that had caused many to show up in the first quarter when they would have waited to come later. Some stood almost directly underneath the stage's overhang. Colt continued to speak, reminding everyone about the food options, and announcing that the _In The _Heights cast had signed some posters which would be given out per $100 donation at the front of the stage at the end of the concert. People pushed forward, wanting to get the jump on something that wouldn't start for more than an hour.

Colt clasped his hands together. "And now, the next Phoebe Meyers? One of our own is off to the Great White Way. You are so very fortunate to be present at her last engagement before heading off to play Alyssa in the Broadway revival of _The Prom_, here is Rayburn Community College's former Cady Heron, Daisy Kahn!"

"Whoop whoop!" Patty shouted, clapping enthusiastically as the crowd cheered. Daisy had gotten incredible reviews as the star of _Mean Girls_, and everyone who had known about her recent audition believed she would get the part. Of course, she hadn't told that many people. She was too modest, and too nervous.

Daisy ran out on stage, and there were whoops from the audience upon recognizing that she was in costume. Patty wrapped an arm around Ralph's elbow, grinning.

"_I'm sixteen, living in paradise, with the lions, and birds, and stuff,_

_But I'm sixteen, and it's not enough."_

Patty leaned her head on Ralph's shoulder. He grinned. His best friend was, as the show he'd seen ten times if he saw it once (always with Patty, always to see Daisy) put it, stupid with love.

Daisy leaned forward, staring down at the audience, acting as if they were part of the performance, singing directly to them.

"_Did you ever get a feeling everybody else is happy?_

_Everybody else has friends, _

_And they're better friends than yours?_

_It's a very recent feeling, but it's running through my body,_

_And it roars. It roars."_

In the musical, there was a speaking part next, but here, a couple students dressed as animals – it was _Lion King_ costumes, as _I Just Can't Wait To Be King_ was the next number in the program – came out, and there was a simple choreographed dance to fill the space. Ralph wondered why they didn't have someone come out to pretend to be Cady's parents; after all, without the discussion of them losing their research funding, the next lyrics made little sense.

"_Mom, I would love that, it's time for something new._

_We live in a tent, adventure's what we do!"_

Patty pulled away from Ralph, swaying, along with the rest of the crowd. They loved this song. They loved Daisy Kahn.

"_Did you ever get a feeling, that a whole new world is waiting?_

_Bringing happiness and friends to the brave girl who explores?_

_It's a scary kind of feeling, but it's so exhilarating,_

_How it roars. It roars. It roars!"_

Daisy held out her arms, her face glowing as she belted out the note, and Ralph wondered if this song resonated with her even more now, that she was about to be off on a new adventure by herself.

She was joined by a few other students, intended to portray the ensemble students at the musical's high school. Colt was among them, as was a couple other performers from earlier in the night.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud cracking noise. Ralph looked up, thinking it was thunder, worried the skies were about to open up on them, proving his point about having these damn things _inside_.

But it wasn't thunder. Ralph realized when the lights on the stage flickered, the right half pitched forward, and then the entire setup twisted and collapsed in on itself to the sound of metal on metal and cracking, the sight of smoke and sparks, and then the screams of those in the audience.

The sound Patty made was unlike anything Ralph had ever heard.


	35. Chapter 35

**Happy closing day to Waitress (Broadway) and Hamilton (Chicago).**

* * *

Delayed.

Paige hadn't traveled on commercial airlines in years, and most of what she'd encountered since leaving waitressing had been much more than the mild, fairly standard inconvenience of an airplane not leaving on time. But she thought she'd go out of her mind if she didn't get to her son.

Cabe could have gotten her a plane. She almost regretted not asking. But they were still in the running for the money, they should find out within a week or so, and wasting resources to fly privately when commercial air was available wouldn't look good. It also probably wasn't the best choice anyway. More and more she was becoming conscious about the world she would be leaving for Ralph and Amber. To be honest, she was a little disappointed in herself that money was what was motivating her to care.

_What have I become?_'

"This seat taken?" Asked a young woman, coming toward Paige with a heavy looking shoulder bag causing her to lean to the left.

"Nope," Paige said. "Guy was sitting here but at this point he's missing his connection, so he's off looking for a direct flight to Fort Lauderdale."

"Good luck with that, what with the hurricane."

"It's still a couple days from Florida, there's hope."

"Truth. Are you just going to Texas?"

"Yes," Paige said. "My son is there."

"Nice. My husband is there. Just out of the military. We got married right before he enlisted, so it's going to be the first time we've really lived together long term, since he's been over there for most of the last four."

"Done now, huh? Did he like it?"

"Killing people? No. His family made him, essentially. He's fourth generation Army now, and the only boy in the family, so there was all this pressure, you know. If we ever have kids we're going to let them pick their own path. How old is your son?"

"He'll be twenty one in December."

"Oh." The woman studied Paige. "You don't look old enough to have a kid that old."

Paige couldn't tell if that was a compliment, insult, or casual observation.

"I hope the hurricane doesn't swing into the Gulf," she continued. "I mean, not that Eric and I have any intentions of leaving the house," she winked at Paige, "but still, rain and wind is just depressing. Oh, man, I'm Misty. Like the beach volleyball player, not the horse."

"Paige," Paige said with a smile, not entirely sure she knew either of the Mistys that were referenced.

"Delay sure blows," Misty said. "You want a coffee? I'm going to go over there and grab one."

"I'm okay, thanks," Paige said. "I'll keep an eye on your stuff."

Just then, a the public address system switched on for the routine reminder to not watch someone else's bags.

"Okay, so don't watch them," Misty said with a laugh. "Watch the people who might take them." She winked again, then headed off toward the Starbucks.

Paige's phone buzzed. It was a text from Walter. _Okay. Thanks._ For a moment, she got irritated. They'd been fighting before Ralph's phone call – about more stupid stuff. Whether or not Amber's tantrums per month were alarming for her age, and whether or not tracking her "TPM" on a chart was ridiculous. Paige had made some below the belt remarks about his attentiveness to his daughter and comparative lack of attentiveness toward his wife. Walter had countered that maybe he wasn't as focused on their relationship as he could be, but she wasn't either if she saved mild annoyances until they could build up and be used to throw into his face. "How come," he'd asked, "we both suck at communicating, but it's always my fault when something breaks down?" Then, Paige recalled with a sick feeling in her stomach, he'd asked why her being a 'normal' gave her a free pass to do the same stuff he did, when he was actually trying to be better.

Then the call had come in. Well, it had come in about thirty seconds earlier, but Paige ignored it. When the ringing sounded again, she took the call. Maybe it had been a need for a distraction, a break, a pause button on an argument she had thought might end her marriage. Maybe it had been motherly intuition.

But mere moments after tapping the green button that accepted Ralph's call, she and Walter were back to doing what they did best – evaluating a disaster that went beyond their own.

* * *

Ralph had lacerations on his hands, the smell of metal, blood, and smoke in his nose. The texture of the bandages the nurse had wrapped around his wounds felt like nails on a chalkboard.

Patty's voice still rang in his head. _Daze! Daze!_

They'd run around the mess – as most of the other fled the scene, sprinting for their cars. The on – duty first aid tent workers and a handful of others had run to what was left of the stage. Patty had looked to him. She'd asked him what to do, how to help.

He was ashamed to have failed her, only equipped with his I.Q. He didn't have Walter, or his mother, or Happy or Toby or Sylvester or Florence. None of them could save the world on their own. They were all pieces of a whole that needed to be at least mostly together in order to work.

Centipede, and Scorpion 2.0, had been proof of that.

So even after advice from Walter and Paige, he and Patty had done nothing spectacular, just help anyone they saw trying to escape free themselves from the wreckage, until the first responders arrived, EMTs and fire fighters and police, and made them back away.

Now they waited, with hundreds of others, crammed into the lobby of the hospital. Waiting on word. Word of those who had leapt from the stage. Word of those who had been pulled out. Word on, even, several people who were trampled in the stampede of fleeing event – goers.

Rumors were flying. People who still had their phones were searching Facebook and Twitter for updates. From what Ralph and Patty, sitting on the floor in the corner with their hands clasped together could gather, there were over one hundred estimated injuries and fatalities. What wasn't yet determined was how many went into each category.

"My mom's flight was delayed again," Ralph said.

"I know," Patty replied. "You told me an hour ago."

Ralph remembered that. "I'm sorry."

"No worries." She shifted her weight. He knew she wanted to be looking for Daisy. Her girlfriend's phone was likely destroyed. It was too crowded to go searching, and the hospital didn't even know the identities of everyone they had.

Neither, of course, did the morgue.

Patty scooted closer, putting her head on Ralph's shoulder. He thought back to what she'd said to him recently, after Daisy had gotten the part and would be going states away. _I'll still have my best buddy._

Right now, still having Ralph was all Patty was guaranteed.

Ralph's eyes hurt. He closed them. The nurse at the field had been able to bandage his hands, but he knew he could have damage to his eyes from all the smoke and debris. It might be days before anyone was able to see to that. He felt guilty for even worrying about his sight, although, as he tried to remind himself, one could worry about multiple things.

His phone went off. It was Paige. "Ralph," she said. "We are boarded. Have you heard anything about Daisy?"

"No," he said. "No, we haven't."

"Someone uploaded a lot of photos of people being taken out of the wreckage on Facebook."

"What a sicko."

"I know. But there's a couple that…I mean, I don't know Daisy like you do. But…I'm going to send you a link, okay?"

"Okay."

"Don't show Patty, okay? Not unless it's good news."

"Okay."

"Who is a sicko?" Patty asked when Ralph hung up.

"Guy next to my mom on the plane," Ralph lied. "He stuck his gum under the seat."

Patty wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

Ralph shifted his weight, so he could open the link from Paige without alerting Patty.

God. The photos appeared to have been taken by a drone – one that had gone unnoticed by those present. Ralph saw himself in a couple of those photos, helping a set dresser hobble away from the site. At least one of the photos showed an individual who very clearly was not alive. Ralph felt like he was going to vomit. His stomach turned. His eyes hurt.

His nose began to bleed.

Ralph let go of Patty's hand, raising his arm up so his sleeve could catch the blood. With his other hand, he continued to scroll the photos. Through them, he learned that Colt Wheeler was alive but in critical condition. He learned that Layla Barajas was in surgery. He learned that her _Light My Candle _duet partner hadn't made it.

He swiped over to the next photo and stopped. His eyes hurt. His vision wasn't the best. But...he dropped his arm from his face, using two fingers to zoom in.

A young woman sat on a gurney, with a paramedic putting her arm in a splint. Her hair was in her face, and there was blood on her clothing. The photo was far from HD.

But Ralph knew that costume.

"Pat," he said, nudging his friend. She looked over at him warily, and he handed her his phone. "Daisy's alive."


	36. Chapter 36

**Sorry for continued sporadic updates. A lot of this stuff is hard to write.**

**I also plan to treat myself to actually READING fics soon as a birthday gift to myself (I read the other day that initially spinsters were unmarried women between 22-26, so I'm amused that as of the 28****th**** of this month I will officially be too old to be a spinster xD).**

* * *

Daisy had greenstick wrist and ulna fractures, a mild concussion, and a puncture wound to the side that – thankfully – had not penetrated any organs. "Not a good enough reason to use the word 'penetrate'" she'd mumbled with a smirk when the doctors had relayed her injuries to Ralph and Patty when they'd located her in her room. She also had, as she put it, "some incredible bruises." Daisy was obviously trying very hard to stay lighthearted, and Ralph understood. If she let herself break even a little, she'd be an emotional mess, and she likely wanted to wait and do that at home, without the risk of a medical professional walking in.

Paige was still an hour or so out; Ralph would be leaving soon to pick her up. He was glad she was coming. He was old enough now, and independent enough, to be fine, most of the time, without her, and they would go weeks without talking before he even realized it. But then he'd start missing her like crazy, and whenever he called and heard the excitement in her voice, he felt bad for the time they went without speaking. Then he felt bad that he didn't talk to Walter much either. _Then_ he felt bad that he did talk to Walter slightly more than Paige.

Then he thought about how part of the reason he didn't talk to them much, and visited even less, was to assuage that guilt. Out of sight, out of mind.

Daisy was cleared to eat, as she put it, "actual food," and had sent Patty out in search of some, since no one was able to take orders from the room at the moment. Ralph had volunteered to go, to give them time alone, but Patty had insisted. "I take care of my girl," she'd said, smiling at Daisy before hurrying off. Ralph wondered if there was some guilt involved in that, too.

"I'm sure production knows about this by now," Daisy said. "I haven't said anything, they wouldn't expect me to contact them quite this quickly, but I'll have to soon."

"For all they know you're still being worked on."

"There's photos out there. They know I'm alive if they look hard enough."

Ralph didn't tell her that's how he and Patty had found out.

"I have some emails," she said. "My mom said my iPad kept pinging."

"She'll be here with it soon."

"I almost don't want to know. I could log in on your phone, you know. Or Pats'. But I haven't asked – no," she said when Ralph held out his device. "I'm too scared. They're going to take it away from me, I know it."

"No you don't."

She stared up at the ceiling. "I initially went into acting with such a gusto because I thought maybe if I got really good, if I became a _star_, then my biological father might want me."

Ralph nodded. Daisy's father had left when she was four years old. "Just hung around enough for me to have a shadow of a memory," she'd say. He could relate to that. He remembered every detail of when he and his mother had moved to Los Angeles. At that point, they were leaving Drew to set up their new life. But instead, Drew had been the one to ultimately leave them.

"Over time, my acting became for me. About me. It helped me express myself. Slipping into other characters allowed me to test out how I felt. I got to have all these experiences, and try out how they made me feel, and I had a cover. They were roles. But they weren't. They helped me discover who I was, under that desire to bring back someone who I thought held the key to my identity. But in reality, my identity was inside of me. And I just had to find it. And this role in _The Prom,_ it spoke to me like almost no other role has. It's the most _actually _me role I've landed. And now I'm not going to get to do it."

"You could still do it," he said. "Remember a couple years ago when those people got sick and the other woman had to fly to London to do it until they were better?"

"You are so lucky I know what you're talking about," she said with a smirk. "And I don't know. Maybe. But it isn't like the show is currently running and so the understudy can just be on for a couple weeks. This is original rehearsals for the revival. It's different. I just don't know how different. I haven't been on this level long enough to know how these circumstances work. I don't really know what the standard policy even is for this stuff, because how often does _this_ happen? My _guess_ is Adelaide – you remember Adelaide the understudy?"

Ralph didn't, but he nodded.

"My guess is she would just prepare to go on if I couldn't be ready, until I was. But I'm so scared to get access to my voicemails. Or to check my email. Because that part is still mine until I hear otherwise. And I'm clinging to that."

Ralph reached out and squeezed her hand.

Daisy stared at the ceiling again. Quiet. Ralph watched her. He wanted to speak, but wasn't sure at all what to say. Daisy broke the silence with a question he wasn't expecting. "Do you ever think about what will happen if Caleb contacts you?"

Ralph turned away, staring at a blank spot on the wall.

"Sorry," Daisy said. "That's not for me to ask.

"No," Ralph said, "it's okay." He gave a deep sigh. "I hope he will grow up the same way I have, learning that blood doesn't mean a thing. But if he wants that closure, and he wants us to meet, I'll do it. It took Drew coming back into my life for me to truly understand that I don't need him around. And that I don't _want_ him around. He and I aren't right for each other. Walter's the dad I was always meant to have."

"What if he asks you why?"

Why. Why he was adopted by a woman old enough to be his grandmother. Why the people responsible for his existence didn't want him. Why his biological parents weren't together. "He is being raised by someone who fosters. He'll understand how different families can be. But…if he asks, I'll tell him that we were kids ourselves. That our relationship had turned into something that wasn't sustainable or healthy, and that it was over before we knew about him. I'll tell him he was adopted because it was the best thing for all of us. And I'll tell him that it wasn't his fault."

"You've put some thought into it."

"I have. A little. Truthfully, I hardly ever think about him. He's the product of a part of my life I'm glad I've moved past. He doesn't feel like mine. And in all the ways that matter, he isn't."

* * *

"Here you go," the nurse said, "you've got her."

Florence took the baby stiffly, awkwardly, like she hadn't once crawled in to a burning house through a window to pull Tad from a deadly trap. She was comfortable holding babies. And yet this felt completely new, in the heavy, clueless way.

Sylvester was the reason why she'd come. The day before, at work, in an attempt to create small talk and distract from waiting on news from Paige, Florence had blurted "seen Tilly lately?" She'd hated herself for that. Despised herself even – that word sounded worse to her than 'hate' did. 'Hate' implied straight anger. 'Despise' added disgust. Of course he'd seen Tilly lately. He visited her almost every day. She didn't have to be spending time with him to know that.

Sylvester hadn't given her the odd look or snarky answer that she perhaps deserved. "I am going in the morning," he'd said. "If you want to come, I could drive you."

She'd just stared, for what was probably a painfully awkward amount of time. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to walk in there and be able to put a face to people who were talking about her behind her back, it's her, it's that mother who doesn't come visit her preemie. Probably. They were probably saying all that and more.

But now that the offer was extended, the idea of turning it down made her feel more guilty than the idea of going. So the word "okay" had slipped from her dry throat.

"I'll leave you three alone," the nurse told them. "Sylvester, you know how to get ahold of one of us."

"I know how to get ahold of you too," Florence said shortly. "The call button is very clearly marked."

"Florence," Sylvester said quietly.

Florence sighed.

When the nurse was gone, she looked down at the baby in her arms. Tilly was still so very small. She was two months old, but still much…_less_ than a two – month – old who had been full term. They were still two months from Tilly's due date. She'd double her amount of living outside of Florence by the time she was initially supposed to be born.

If she lived. She was so, so small.

"She looks a lot better, doesn't she?" Sylvester asked. "They almost never have her on oxygen anymore. She can see. She can hear. She almost smiles, sometimes. And she can recognize voices."

"She wouldn't know mine," Florence said. "They can't really hear until twenty – four weeks and that's when she was born."

"She might. They can hear as early as eighteen, though to be honest I don't know how much they can recognize at that point."

"She doesn't know me, Sylvester."

"She will. Eventually."

If she lived. _She was so, so small._ Florence lifted her up, holding her against her chest.

"Is it good to see her?" Sylvester asked. "I know you worry."

"I…" she bit her lip. "I don't know."

Sylvester nodded. "Okay."

"I don't know how I feel about her." _Shit. _She hadn't meant to say that thought out loud.

"You…you don't…" Sylvester looked conflicted, as if he didn't want to finish that sentence in fear of getting an answer, but at the same time desperate to know what she'd say.

"Love her?" Florence asked. She could tell by the way his jaw moved, slightly side to side, that she'd gotten it right. "I…" she gave the tiniest of shrugs. "I wish I did. I did when she was born." Florence lightly patted Tilly's back. The baby's hand, curled into a fist, lightly bumped against her mother's shoulder. "I feel detached. Like she's mine, but she isn't. Or mine, but not supposed to be."

"Or yours, but not thriving?"

Sylvester asked it gently, but Florence was angry. "You think I can only love her if she's perfect?"

He sighed. She wanted to cry. She wished she could remember what it was like to not get so defensive all the time. Sylvester used to be someone she could relax around. Maybe he still was. Maybe she'd changed. Maybe this had messed her up more than she'd let herself believe.

"What I mean," Sylvester said, quietly, "is maybe you're scared. Really, really scared. If you get attached, and she doesn't make it, then you won't make it either."

Florence could feel her hands shaking. She clutched Tilly tighter, terrified that she'd tumble to the floor.

"Maybe I'm wrong," he continued, and she was grateful for that, grateful for him not trying to push her into a corner, into his theory of what was the matter. "It's just a thought."

"You're probably right," she said, her voice almost too low to hear. "If I was falling all over her with rainbows draining from my nose and sunshine shooting out of my eyes or whatever flowery language people use, and something happened to her…" she shook her head. "There isn't enough of me in this world to overcome that." _But if I'm removed from it, I can survive. If I'm removed from it and she dies, only one of us have been destroyed._

"Are you really surviving, though?" Sylvester asked.

"I'm alive."

"Okay, fair. You're surviving. But are you thriving? This can't be what you want, Florence."

"You're right," she said. "It's not what I want. But I'm not going to get what I want. Ever. I want her still inside me. I want to feel her kicking and doing somersaults. I want her head in my ribs. I want her punching my bladder. I want a baby shower. I want to be making stupid bets with you about if the baby is a boy or a girl, and then have serious conversations with you about how we're going to support the baby if we find out differently later on. And then I want that early stage of labor, where we're excited instead of scared. Hell I even want the part where I'm in so much pain I curse you for doing it to me. But I'm never going to have that. I know me. I know what I can handle. And I know I won't ever be able to get pregnant again." She tapped her temple. "Mentally. I can't spend up to nine months terrified the same thing is going to happen again. Tilly is my only baby, and I don't know how to handle how everything played out."

"I know," Sylvester said. "I know my…experience isn't the same as you. But I get it. I was expecting all those things, too. Even you telling me you were never letting me close to you again. Because…at least then I'd know to just chalk it up to the pain."

Ouch. Florence knew he wasn't intending to make her feel guilty. He was being honest. He was just being Sylvester. But she knew how much she had to have hurt him by leaving.

Happy had once accused her of trying to destroy Scorpion. There was a time, back in 2018, when she doubted herself, when she wondered if everything she touched was given a detonator. Then, there was a time she hadn't believed it. But now, these past months, she's wondered if her initial assessment was in fact true.

_What is wrong with me?_

She thought about being in this same hospital, under different circumstances. Sylvester holding her hand. Sylvester encouraging her. Sylvester rubbing her back, massaging cramps in her legs…

Florence suddenly felt dizzy. Memories were returning, were clearing up, slowing their spin around her head. She'd never completely blocked out Tilly's birth; she'd actually been fixating on it, or else she wouldn't have been able to recount the events to Sylvester the day she'd left. But imagining Tilly being born _here_…the imagery was too much. It danced with the memories and created a monster.

Florence started to cry.

"Lori," Sylvester said, reaching out to put a hand against Tilly. Florence wanted to snap at him, that of course she wouldn't drop the baby, and how _dare he_ imply she might, but she couldn't get any words out. She clutched Tilly to her, her body shaking, shaking like _her damn leg_ in that airplane.

She knew it would have been out of line for Sylvester to hold her, to cross the boundary she'd set, but she wished he could read minds and know that that's what she wanted. So she leaned against him, slightly, trying to wordlessly give permission for something she craved but was too proud to ask for.

He slid an arm around her shoulders. His other hand stayed on Tilly.

"Will you see someone?" He asked. "Not for me. Not because I want you better. But you…you left me to look for yourself, right? Don't you want to give that self the best chance? Walter got a doc for his thing."

She was quiet, gathering herself, wanting to respond without her voice cracking. "Why does some random psychiatrist deserve to know everything in my head?" She asked finally, after a long silence that she was glad he allowed. "It's so hard for me to share. Why would…" She took in a deep breath, "why would I grant some stranger access?"

"Because it's clearly too difficult to do on your own. And you don't want to talk to us."

Florence sat up and adjusted her hold on Tilly, stretching her arms out toward Sylvester. "Can you take her? I need…" Sylvester gathered the baby into his arms. "Easy, T," he said with a smile when the baby grunted. Florence got up, crossing the small room and getting a tissue, which she used to dab at her eyes and then wipe her cheeks off. She looked back at Sylvester and Tilly, He was smiling down at her, rocking her gently, quietly 'bum – bum' – ing the Super Fun Guy song. She smiled. It was the first smile she couldn't help in months. It lasted only a moment, before the squeezing sensation returned around her heart and lungs, the fog settled back around her eyes, and her limbs grew heavy. The funk had returned. It was gone for only a moment.


	37. Chapter 37

**Tw for a few brief mentions of suicide (no action).**

* * *

Paige and Ralph went out for frozen yogurt. It had become their thing back when he was in his late teens, and somehow it had become their default, whenever they saw each other. Especially when they needed to be away from other people, for the sake of the other people, or their own. This time, it was both.

For a while, they focused on the stage collapse, the benefits and drawbacks of the rush to put it on social media, and then small talk about the weather and the decision to raise the local speed limit five miles per hour on the highway. Paige was avoiding talking about home, and she knew that Ralph could tell. Eventually, he asked about Florence and Tilly, then about Amber. She felt like a witness getting cross examined, lead into a trap.

"How are you and Dad doing?" He asked her eventually.

_Womp, there it is._ "We're fine."

"Mom. You know I'm not that unaware. I can tell when I call during an argument. You've essentially vanished from each other's social media, and I know you all don't use it that much but there's usually pictures every couple weeks, and lately you've been sharing 'open letters' written by angsty college kids about communication and photos of Amber's finger paintings. He hasn't been online at all. For all the practice you had when I was a baby, you actually aren't that good at pretending things are okay."

Paige sighed. "Ralph, the whole team is going through a lot right now. And the fine points of my relationship with your father isn't your concern."

"Alright, then I'll just point out that he isn't my father. I can play whatever angle I need to here."

Paige sighed again. She was close to it just being muscle memory. "Things have changed. He's got that brain trauma, we're both more distant than we've been in a long time. Relationships are complicated – "

"Are you guys getting divorced?" Ralph asked.

Paige's face softened. "Ralph…"

"Don't 'Ralph' me. I'm twenty years old. I can handle it."

He was staring at her intensely; she could see the concern on his face, and she hated it. She was supposed to shield him from this kid of stuff. _I could be 100, Ralph would be 78, _she'd told Happy once, and she would still worry about him, and want to protect him. Of course, she didn't like that memory, because it was a scathing indictment of her math skills. "I don't have plans to leave him," she said. "We do have Amber to think about."

"_Mom_." Ralph looked alarmed.

She was confused. "What?"

"If it's that bad, go."

It was Paige's turn to look alarmed.

"I mean it. I love you, and I love Walter, and both of you and your relationship mean so much to me. But don't stay together for Amber. Some people are better apart. Some people are better parents apart. Amber deserves an environment that isn't all tension and people snapping at each other. If it's really _that _bad, where you'd be gone already if Amber didn't exist, then as much as it hurts to say this, you should leave."

* * *

Paige called home before bed, to check in on Amber. "She's well. She's already asleep," he said. "I can get her…"

_Don't disturb her,_ Paige wanted to snap, but she didn't. "No, that's all right," she said. "Thank you for the offer, though."

"Of course." There was a long silence. Then Walter cleared his throat. "We are taking the kids on a little road trip tomorrow, a little beach area near where we rescued those Boy Scouts from Virginia. Remember that one?"

Paige did. It was shortly after Amber was born, so she'd stayed behind in the garage, but she never forgot a detail of cases where kids were involved. "That will be fun."

"Yeah. Should be."

There was another silence. Paige wanted to break it, but she didn't know how. This was what they were, now. Long silences. Fighting between the silences.

"Well, I should probably go. We're getting up early."

"Okay. Make sure she has her sunscreen." At the lack of response from Walter, Paige added. "I'm not saying you wouldn't remember, I'm just…I'm her mother."

"I know," he said, sounding annoyed, but Paige didn't escalate. "I'll take pictures for you."

"Thanks. I should probably…"

"Yeah, it's later there."

"Yeah."

* * *

"Are you ready, Tad?" Toby asked.

The boy shook his head. "It's high."

They were standing at the edge of the rocks, the water about eight feet below. Cabe was at the bottom, treading water. "Come on down, kiddo!" he called. "It's all good down here, the water's great!"

"It's high," Tad said again.

"Would it help if I went first?" he asked.

Tad bit his lip and nodded.

"You'll follow me, right?"

"Yes, Dad."

"Can I see your cannonball?"

Tad lowered himself to the rock, assuming the position.

"Good boy. Do that, you'll get a nice big splash. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Hey," Toby said, reaching over and tapping Tad lightly on the shoulder, "you do not have to do it. I just think it's something you'll like."

"I will do it, Dad."

"Okay. Watch me?"

Tad got to his feet. Toby grinned at him, then leapt out over the water, tucking up his knees. "_Cowabunga_!"

He hit the water, closing his eyes and paddling back to the surface. "Hey," Cabe said. "I was expecting the kid."

"Surprise." Toby wiped the water from his face and gestured up toward his son. "Your turn, Tad!"

Tad stood at the edge of the rock, looking down."

"Come on, buddy, just like I did."

"Come on, Tad!" The new voice was Happy. She was sitting on the sand with Ellie and Amber. The younger, less skilled swimmers were making a sandcastle.

Tad jumped off the rock, curling into a cannonball. "_California_!"

"Hey, he did it!" Cabe said when Tad resurfaced. "Look at you."

"Wave to Mom," Toby said, pointing toward the beach. Tad grinned, waving enthusiastically at Happy. She turned, said something to Ellie and Amber, and then they turned and waved too.

"Can we do it again?" Tad asked.

"Of course. Do you want to take him this time?" Toby asked Cabe.

"It scared you, huh?" Cabe asked.

"It did _not_."

* * *

"Here, Ellie bean," Happy said, handing over a plastic bucket. "Go get more water. If the sand is damp, it holds better. Go on."

Ellie darted for the ocean. Happy put a hand up over her eyes, shielding them from the sun, as she kept an eye on her daughter. Ellie never expressed a desire to go more than ankle deep, but with Toby and Tad both out farther, over where the rock cliff curved outward, the little girl might be tempted to try and join them.

"Hey." Walter appeared next to her, dropping down onto his towel next to Amber, who was busy clapping the plastic scoops together like they were cymbals. "That was Sylvester on the phone, he and Florence are coming by after all."

"Together? They're coming together?"

"I guess they saw Tilly…or rather, they saw Tilly yesterday, and she texted him that night that she was glad she went. And he told her about us hanging out, and she didn't want to come with the rest of us so he offered to drive with her so it was less overwhelming."

"I'm glad he's making that effort," Happy said. "In sickness and in health, you know. She feels worthless and she feels like she's a disappointment, and us just ignoring it or going tough love on her would just validate those feelings and make her worse."

"Yeah." Walter was quiet. "I think she is trying. Or wants to, anyway. Or is…but it's hard for the outside to see."

Happy realized she hadn't had eyes on Ellie for nearly one minute. She whipped her head around. It took her a frantic moment or two before she located her, ten feet or so away, digging in the sand. She was at least twenty – five yards from the water. Happy breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ellieeeee!" Amber called. The older child looked up, got up, grabbed the bucket, and ran the short distance to the sandcastle.

"Dump it on the sand like this, right there," Happy said. Then you can use that to pack around this tower.

Amber took one of the scoops and began digging. "Moat."

"The moat goes around the castle, Ambie," Walter said.

"So we put the castle here," Amber said, leaning over and trying to pull the assembled part of the sand castle over toward her.

"No!" Ellie said, and Happy prepared herself for a fight. Instead, she jumped up and sat on the other side, directly across from Amber. "Not like that. Like this." She placed her hands at the base and pushed a little. "You help from your side." Somehow, the two girls got it moved next to the hole Amber was digging with minimal damage.

"Look at those little team players," Walter said with a smile.

"I'm in the kite team at school, Uncle Walter," Ellie said.

"The what team?"

"It's a kite flying club," Happy said. "It's advertised as a mixture of fun while learning about the intricacies, age appropriate learning. One of her friends is signed up, too, from the preschool. Apparently four and five – year – olds are at a good age to start learning about it."

"Megan helped me build my first kite," Walter reminisced.

Ellie looked over at Happy. Happy wasn't entirely sure how much her youngest knew about Megan, but it was clearly enough to seek her mother's advice on how to respond. "Uncle Walter's sister," she said. "Who Uncle Sly was married to before Aunt Florence."

"Yes. I know," Ellie said, directing her eyes to the sand. She continued to add on to the sandcastle.

"Daddy, help," Amber said.

"Help with what, sweetie?"

Amber made a circling motion with her hand. "Help."

"With the moat?"

"Yes."

Walter got up on his knees, leaning over and tracing around the sand castle with his finger. "Can you dig along this line?"

Amber started digging.

"Amber. What do you say?"

"Please."

Happy smirked. Walter _had_ dropped the ball on the first half of that lesson.

He recovered quickly. "Good. And what do you say after I help you?"

"Thank you."

Walter smiled.

"Now you say 'you're welcome,' Uncle Walter," Ellie said, pointing a piece of driftwood at him. "Tsk tsk."

Happy smirked again. "Ellie, let's not be sassy."

"Sassy is her middle name, middle name, middle name…" Ellie started singing, to the tune of _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star._

"Well, that's interesting," Walter said.

"I have a feeling her father sang that around her and it just stuck."

Amber suddenly let out a shriek, one that startled the adults until they followed where she was looking. Sylvester was walking toward them, a bag over his shoulder and towels tucked under his arm. They could barely see Florence from the angle, but she was a few paces behind him.

Amber and Ellie were on their feet almost instantly, and they ran across the sand. Sylvester dropped to his knees, hugging both of them at once. A few feet behind, Florence stopped, a small, unsure smile on her face.

Ellie untangled from Sylvester first and ran to Florence with her arms out. Walter and Happy exchanged glances, but Florence put on a smile that almost looked real, leaned over, and picked the girl up, spinning her around once before tucking her chin into the child's shoulder, giving her a tight hug. "Hi, sweet girl," she said.

"Is Tilly alive?" Amber asked Sylvester.

"_Amber Florence O'Brien_," Walter said sternly.

"Tilly is doing marvelously," Sylvester said not missing a beat.

Happy looked at Walter, dropping her voice. "Our friend is a _saint._"

Florence set Ellie down, and the girl grabbed her aunt's hand as they walked over to the others. "Florence," Happy said. "I'm glad you were able to come."

She shrugged. "I mean, not like I'm busy."

"That's not the only _able_ that I'm talking about," Happy said.

"Well," Florence said. "I've been so…" she shifted her weight. "Neck ache, back ache, muscles protesting everything I do. It'll be good to get out and stretch and relax."

Sylvester spread a towel. "It will also be good to get some sun," he said. "Even though I burn so, so easily."

"I burn worse than you," Florence said. "I need to get my sunblock on."

"If you need help with your back, I can do it," Happy offered.

"Thanks."

"Aunt Florence!" Tad was charging out of the water, Cabe and Toby walking more leisurely behind him.

Florence settled on the towel, patting the spot beside her. "Hey Tad, come sit."

"She seems to be trying," Walter said as Sylvester shook out a second towel.

"She is. She'll come around. I know she will."

There was still worry in his eyes. That didn't escape any of the other adults.

* * *

"What's for lunch?" Toby asked, finally bringing Tad in from the ocean. Cabe followed behind, a towel around his shoulders.

"Sandwiches," Walter said. "I'm not fancy."

"Sand witches?" Toby said. "Man. I was prepared for sandcastles, but sand witches? Whoo, I don't know about that, kiddos."

Tad rolled his eyes. Ellie giggled. Amber ignored him. She was pulling on her father's leg hair.

"Wow, tough room," Toby said, kneeling down beside the cooler.

"Amber, stop it," Walter said. "That hurts."

"No it doesn't."

"It hurts _me_."

"Oh." Amber turned to Toby. "Sandwiches?"

"There's a slow echo on this beach," Sylvester said.

"I'd expect that in the cave," Toby said, taking the foil wrapped sandwiches out of the cooler and beginning to pass them around.

"Hmmm?" Cabe asked.

"_Cave_," Toby said again, louder. "You really are an old man now, aren't you? I'm talking about the Beaver Dam."

"Beavers?" Tad asked. "I learned about beavers. They're in the Narnia books."

"Yes, they are," Happy said. "The cave is out there." She pointed to one of the places where the rocks curved outward into the sea. "You have to go underwater to reach it, like how beavers take shelter."

"Is that why it's called the Beaver Dam?"

"Beaver Dam Cave," Toby said with a nod. "There's signs up closer to it, warning people that going into it is at their own risk. They should be bigger, I think. Adults can get in and out fine, but it's not safe for kids."

"You're saying that so I don't try," Tad said.

"Partly," Toby admitted. "Partly because it really isn't safe unless you're a very strong swimmer."

"It's stupid, Tad," Sylvester said. "Don't worry about it. Staying on shore is a lot safer."

"Thank you, Uncle Sly," Happy muttered before biting into her sandwich.

Ellie was pulling the crust off her sandwich and dropping it onto Amber's makeshift plate. "Wow," Cabe said as the youngest child picked up a handful of the crusts and shoved it into her mouth, "that's the kind of friend you want, huh?"

* * *

Florence waded out into the ocean. She remembered stories of people who just walked out as far as they could go, then farther, and just vanished. She didn't want to do that. Thinking about doing something didn't mean intent. It just meant that her brain processed every possible outcome. That was a blessing and it was a curse.

Drowning was not peaceful. She'd read it was one of the worst ways to die. It wasn't as easy as slipping below the surface and falling asleep. People who drown themselves, Florence thought, must _really_ want to die. Or to torture themselves, feel as much pain as possible because they thought they deserved it.

She did not want to die. She wanted to feel better. The problem was she didn't have the energy, or the willpower, or the ability to trust a complete stranger with these complicated feelings that drained her of energy and put her in that fog. Someone with two broken legs couldn't just force themselves to walk. And they wouldn't be expected to. So why was it, when someone's brain was sick, that they were told to 'just' do something? Just see a therapist. Just go for a run. Just eat better. It was just so damn simple to some people.

Birds were flying a couple hundred yards a head of her, nearly skimming the water. They didn't need assistance. It came naturally to them, to soar.

"Florence?"

She jumped, but by the time she'd turned around, the startle was gone. "Hi," she said. "I wasn't up to anything."

Sylvester cocked his head. "Well, now I'm concerned."

"Don't be. Where are the others?"

"Happy and Toby went to load the food stuff back in the van, and then they wanted to go explore a bit. The others are burying Cabe. That sounded morbid. Walter and the kids are digging a hole and covering Cabe to the shoulders. He's going to be kneeling. But still. Tad thought it up and Amber thinks the idea is hilarious."

"Mmm." She cracked a small smile. "Remember when we were at Zuma, and Paige so badly wanted to do chicken fights?"

"We all thought it was a dumb sounding game, and we ended up having so much fun."

"Happy and Toby had the best fun, since they won."

"We were terrible at it, which frustrated the heck out of you."

"It was _mock_ competitiveness," she protested, a grin threatening to come over her face.

"I don't know, the way you tried to pull Paige off Walter by her hair seemed pretty real."

"We could have won that round if you hadn't stopped me."

He laughed. "I don't doubt it."

"We laughed so hard that day," she said. "We all did. But you and I, especially."

"That we did. We were so – "

"Stupid in love," she said right along with him. "That we were." She stepped closer to him. "Thank you," she said.

He cocked his head.

"You know. For making me get out. I'm glad to be here. It's so painful to drown. No," she added quickly at the slight alarm on his face. "I told you, I didn't come out here for that. I just mean, I knew I didn't want to die. But thinking about how horrifying dying must be like, it makes me more conscious of the fact that despite how heavy and opaque I feel," she squeezed his arm, "I want to be here."

He leaned down and kissed her. She was surprised, but welcomed it, kissing him back immediately. He put his hands on her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck, a hand on the back of his head to keep him right where he was.

This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. They were living separately, had been speaking only in stilted text messages and awkward filler conversation at work up until the day before, when she'd told him she _didn't love their child._ They were a mess.

But she was so quickly getting distracted from all of that by kissing him. She was feeling all the same feelings she had weeks ago, in their bedroom, when she'd thought she wanted intimacy and then realized how much she was actually dreading it. But this time, as she wrapped her legs around his waist and let out a soft moan as he pulled her closer, those feelings that had vanished so quickly the last time stubbornly refused to go away.

They were about forty feet off shore. They could sink low enough in the water to get up to things without the others noticing. But Walter, Cabe, and the three children were still technically in sight. Florence pulled her head back, away from Sylvester. The way he instantly looked toward the shore told her he had identical concerns.

"There's the – " she started, gesturing to the Beaver Dam, the large formation that they knew had the cavern inside. It was mere yards away. Sylvester nodded, taking a moment to catch his breath. "Good idea."

She took a breath and dove under, making sure she'd cleared the rock wall and slowly drifting to the surface, Sylvester right behind her. They burst clear of the water at the same time, wiping their eyes. A second later, four people were screaming.

* * *

Walter was on his feet in a second, bolting for the shore. Cabe scrambled out of the hold – it was only about two feet deep – and grabbed Amber and Ellie, barking at Tad to stay put.

Walter had just reached the water, standing knee deep and staring out, trying to determine what had happened, when the other four members of the day trip popped up out of the water. They all turned to each other, yelling, gesticulating, but none of those on the shore could tell what was being said. Then they began to make their way toward the sand.

"What the hell happened?" Cabe called as they got closer.

"He was – " Sylvester started.

"They – " began Toby.

"Don't you dare," Happy snapped.

Florence, who had been yelling something at Toby while out in the water, just looked mildly terrified.

"One at a time," Cabe said. "I don't even care who starts."

"We were just going to check out the cave," Florence said. "And _they_…"

"We were also checking out the cave," Toby said.

"I typically have more on when I check out caves," Sylvester said.

"We went somewhere private," Happy said. "It isn't our fault you two decided to come barging in to…what on Earth were _you_ going into the cave for?"

"We saw their bathing suit areas," Sylvester said to Walter. "I will be embarrassed about it for the statistically remaining fifty eight percent of my life."

"Oh Lordy," Cabe said. "Kids, come with me."

"What is a bathing suit area?" Ellie asked.

"It's where you go to put your swimsuit on," Cabe said. "Like the pool area at a hotel is where you go to swim." He grabbed each of the smallest kids' hands. "Tad, come with, please."

Tad had a look on his face that implied that he understood just enough of the chaos to be uncomfortable.

Florence dropped to the towel, her hands on the side of her face, like blinkers on a race horse, blocking her peripheral vision.

"Exposing myself to my coworkers is not how I expected to spend today," Happy said. "Where on Earth did you _think_ we were?" She asked Sylvester and Florence.

"We weren't chilling in the water thinking about you guys," Sylvester retorted.

"What _were_ you thinking about?" Toby said. "You guys had some pretty smug looks on your faces before it registered that we were there."

"We were excited to explore the cave," Sylvester said.

"Literally at lunch you said you had no interest in it."

"Guys," Walter said, raising his eyebrows at them and gesturing toward Florence's towel. She still had her hands up, limiting her vision, but she was now lying on her side, facing away from them, bunched up as if she was cannon balling off the cliff.

* * *

"I should not have kissed you," Sylvester said, breaking the silence that had followed a solid ten minutes of small talk. "I am sorry."

Florence kept her eyes on the road. It was getting dark now; they'd all managed to spend another two hours at the beach, for the kids' sake, before loading up for home. "I didn't push you away, did I?"

"No. But you'd previously set boundaries, and I crossed those boundaries. It was inappropriate of me. I disrespected you, which is the last thing I ever thought I'd do."

"I didn't feel disrespected," Florence said. "But thank you. I really appreciate the apology anyway." She looked down. "And I'm sorry that I continued it."

"_You're_ sorry?"

"Yes," she said. "I am. Because I'm still not ready for sex. I know that. And I know where that was leading and I know if Happy and Toby hadn't been in that cave we would have let things continue until a point where I freaked out and said no again." She pushed her toes into the sand. "I don't have the energy. I'm too tense. And things still are a little uncomfortable, you know, and I don't know if a shorter or longer recovery period is the norm for early deliveries but I just don't feel back to normal down there, on top of feeling so off about everything else."

"I mean, then I could also add on that I shouldn't have assumed you were better and even if you wanted to…I mean, I should have asked if you were sure."

"And you would have. I know you. Consent has always been so important to you. It's one of the things that always made me feel comfortable. And safe. And all that." She sighed. "And we're not together, but we aren't not together either, and everything is blurred and I hate it and I know it's my fault."

"Being sick is not your fault."

"But what's the shelf life on that excuse, Sly?"

"You're not a box of cereal, Lori."

"I can't do therapy, Sylvester. I thought about it. I even got onto that app to make an appointment. But I can't. If that's the only option, then my options suck."

"Therapy isn't for everyone. People understand that."

"Then why is it the only thing ever suggested?" She said, shifting into the right lane. "People say see a therapist, or try harder and then see a therapist. But then they admit it isn't for everyone. So what's the option for those people? Deal with the feelings, take medication that may or may not even help, or die?"

Sylvester licked his lips. Someone had popped into his head, someone that might be able to provide a resource that could help Florence get to a point where she was more equipped to help herself.

But he wasn't sure he wanted to introduce them. And if he did, he had to make sure it was okay with Walter, first.


	38. Chapter 38

Walter didn't tell her where they were going. To be fair, Florence didn't ask.

She'd seen Sylvester and him talking the previous day, and the talk had ended with the two men hugging. That had to mean that whatever Sylvester's idea was, it was O'Brien Approved.

Earlier this morning, he'd approached her. "Sylvester had a suggestion on something that might help you," he said. "You know…t – talk about stuff. Would you like to go for a drive with me?"

_No._ But she knew she had to. If there was any chance of escaping this fog, she had to take it. And today was a 'good day' in that she didn't feel like each of her limbs weight three hundred pounds. Walking felt like a chore, but not impossible. Her eyes hurt, but the lids weren't heavy. She was more able today than she often was. "Okay."

Walter smiled. "I promise you won't be overwhelmed."

"Okay."

They got in his car. Sylvester was in the loft with Toby and the kids, and she wondered if she should have told him where she was going. She decided it didn't matter. He had to know Walter would be approaching her about…whatever this was.

They parallel parked near a park and walked down one of the paved paths. There were some couples walking, a jogger with bright blue headphones passing by the water fountain, and a woman on a bench. A teenager walked their dog over to a map and studied it.

The woman on the bench looked up from her phone, making eye contact with them. She smiled and rose. This, Florence thought, must be who Walter had brought her to see. She watched as the smiling woman approached them. "Hi, Walter," the woman said, reaching out.

Walter reciprocated, the two engaging in a side hug. "Hello," he said. "I appreciate you seeing us."

"Of course. You must be Florence?"

"Uh. Yeah," Florence said, feeing uneasy. "I'm sorry, I don't know exactly what this is about."

"Oh! Sorry." She glanced at Walter. "Can you give us a few?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll wait in the car."

When Walter was gone, the woman smiled at Florence. "Sit?"

They walked back to the bench. When settled, the woman crossed her left leg over her right and rested her hands on her knee. "Alright. Has Walter told you anything about me?"

"He said you were a friend of his. That's all."

"And I haven't even introduced myself." She tucked hair behind her ear. "Wow. Fail." She cleared her throat. "Well, I'm Linda, I briefly dated Walter years ago."

"You're the speed dating woman!" Florence said, putting two and two together.

"Correct," Linda said, looking a bit delighted at the identification.

Florence couldn't smile back. Why was Walter having her meet with a speed dating coordinator? Why had _Sylvester_ suggested it? Did he not want to get back together? Or…was he assuming she didn't?

"Now I don't know if you know the rest of it," Linda continued, "but after my first date with Walter, some people knocked me out and strapped a bomb to me."

Florence nodded. She had heard the basics.

"Walter and the team saved my life – it was this crazy thing – and that trauma made me think I had feelings for Walter beyond what I did. Eventually we determined that I was just seeking the high that being saved gave me, but years later I realized that that wasn't entirely it. I was also seeking Walter out because I was a _lot_ more traumatized than I thought I was and dating him was a way of pushing that down. Once I got away from Scorpion…Walter and I had said we would stay friends. But you know how that goes. You have a crush on someone, it fades, you don't see them again."

Not really, Florence thought. Of the two people she'd ever had crushes on, she had married one of them, and the other was waiting in the car.

"But we did run into each other time and again, and so he knows that eventually I had a complete mental break and was hospitalized. Therapy made me worse. I didn't want to talk to professionals. And I figured out that the best way for me to cope was to just talk. Share my experiences with other people, and be a listening ear for them, too. So I started my support group. It's called Be Our Own, and basically people show up to have other people to talk to. All of us have been through _something._ And for a lot of us, counselling and therapy just don't help. And groups like mine don't help everyone either, but I think it's worth a try, if you want objective third parties with no personal stake in your struggle to listen to you and provide advice if you ask for it. We're all very much about respecting boundaries. Being comfortable is the object."

"That doesn't sound terrible…" Florence bit her lip. "Look, I don't know how much you know about me, either."

"Walter said that he had a friend who might need some people to talk to," Linda said. "Oh, and I know you're married to Sylvester and you two have a daughter. That's it. He was very vague."

"Okay." So she would have full control over what she said. "When are your meetings?"

"We have them at the library off State Street on Thursday nights; they're open an hour after closing just for us. So, obviously you know it's Thursday. You're more than welcome to come tonight, or next week, or never. Up to you."

Florence nodded again. "I might give it a try. I have to try something, right?"

Linda smiled. "We've been advertising the group in a couple mental health magazines, so if you came tonight or next week, you shouldn't be the only newbie."

* * *

The library chairs were situated in a circle, away from the largest windows. For privacy, Florence supposed. Linda, holding a clipboard with papers semi – organized on it, sat at what Florence assumed was the head of the circle. Could there be a head of a circle? About three quarters of the chairs were full, and for a moment, Florence debated leaving. Too soon, too much. She could slip out, duck around the shelves and past the desk and out the front door. Linda would assume she'd decided to come in the following week. And then she could decide again.

But her feet kept moving in a forwardly direction. She selected a seat a few spot to Linda's right.

"Is this seat taken?" Asked another woman, gesturing to the spot to Florence's left.

"No. I mean…no, I don't think so," she said.

The woman sat down. "Works for me."

Florence stared at her knees. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be able to see her knees. She should be over seven months pregnant.

Everyone seemed to be settled, and Linda smiled and rose. "Hello, everyone!"

About half of the group said hello back; the rest simply snapping to attention. One or two women added Linda's name to their greeting.

"Okay," Linda said with a smile. "First of all, I'd like to welcome you all to Be Our Own. As this is the first week after some new advertising, and we have a good mixture of regulars and new people here, let's all go around and share why we're here. As always, only give as much detail as you're comfortable with. We are here to help one another by sharing and listening and _not_ applying pressure to anyone. This is introductions; we can get into more detail later on in the meeting. Okay?"

There were nods around the group. Florence shifted, her stomach in knots.

"Okay." Linda smiled. "I'll start, as usual. My name is Linda Price, and about nine years ago now, I was knocked out and fitted with a bomb vest. The vest ultimately went off with me still wearing it."

One woman put her hand over her mouth. She, Florence presumed, must be another new person.

"As you can imagine that caused some mental trauma, a lot of which I didn't confront and deal with until years later. And that led to me starting Be Our Own. I've found talking to other people who have been through something has helped me tremendously, and our goal is to help as many others as we can, while seeking what we need ourselves." Linda put her hands together, turning to the woman to her left. "Would you like to go next, Morgan?"

"Yes, sure." She placed her hands on her knees. "I am Morgan LeComte. In 2022, I was kidnapped by my father's bookie and held for ransom for four days."

"My God," whispered the woman next to Florence.

Morgan looked to her left. That woman gave her a small smile and then faced the circle. "My name is Cathryn Sophia. My parents were murdered in their RV in British Columbia eight months ago. They have no leads on who did it."

Quiet "I'm so sorrys," echoed around the circle.

"Thanks," she said. "It's…yeah." She looked to her left.

"I'm Naia Hashem," said the next woman. "I am here because in 2016, I was beaten on my university campus."

Florence listened to every story. One woman was shot in the line of duty. One had a serious seizure while her service dog was distracted by a woman who thought her right to pet a cute dog was more than the owner's right to her health. Another lost her brother in a car accident that she herself survived. Florence felt her stomach twisting into knots. _I don't think I can do this._

The woman next to Florence straightened up for her introduction. "My name is Hope Dougal. I recently left my husband." She paused. "There's more to it than that, but I'd rather wait a little bit."

There were understanding nods. And then it was Florence's turn. She shifted her weight again, staring at the ground, feeling put on the spot even though she'd known it was coming.

She still had time to chicken out. She could get up, apologize, and rush out. She could just leave, no hurried words included. She didn't owe these people an explanation. Or she could say she wasn't ready to share anything yet but her name.

"Hi," she said, her voice sounding odd. She paused, drawing in a breath, her tongue feeling dry and her stomach doing flips, flips she should be attributing to Tilly, and not anxiety over speaking. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be pregnant, delighting in kicks and somersaults.

But she wasn't. She wasn't pregnant. She couldn't write off her gastrointestinal issues as Tilly kicking and stretching and hiccuping. As badly as she wanted her situation to be different, it wasn't. No amount of wanting could change the lot she'd been dealt. But she _could_ change some of how she felt. Or at least, she could try.

"My name is Florence Tipton – Dodd," she said, her voice sounding stronger, "and I have post-partum depression."


	39. Chapter 39

"Daisy will be released late tonight or tomorrow," Ralph announced when Paige came out of the bathroom. She'd forgotten her hair dryer. The hotel one performed better than hers. That annoyed her.

"Good!" She said with a smile. She sat down on her bed. She'd gotten two because it was cheaper – something that surprised her given how many people were coming to town to find out about relatives – but she was pleasantly surprised when Ralph had fallen asleep in the hotel the previous night, rather than going back to the apartment. She was glad that he wanted to be near her. They certainly didn't get enough time together. "Has she heard from…the show yet?"

"They said 'we will talk about it when you're well.' She doesn't know if that means something good or something bad."

"I can understand that frustration," Paige said. "Scorpion still doesn't have any updates on the investigation into the plane crash _or_ on the benefactor's decision."

"It's so frustrating. Like molasses running uphill." Ralph laid back and stretched, then sat up again. "Patty's coming over in a couple minutes, if that's okay."

"Sure," Paige said, just as she heard a tapping at the door. "Speak of the devil, perhaps?"

The tapping at the door turned into more of a banging as Paige got up to answer it. "Hi, Mrs. O'Brien," Patty said as she scooted by.

"Mrs. O'Brien?" she echoed, curious at the formality of the young woman who had always called her Paige.

"Ralph!" Patty said, "Did you see Mara's Facebook update?"

"I literally just saw it in my feed," Ralph said. He started to read, furrowing his brow, and then it shot up as his eyes widened.

"What's going on?" Paige said.

Ralph read the status aloud. "_Meg Mitchell is missing. Last seen at the Rayburn Community College musical charity night wearing a red short sleeved V neck tee shirt with a cartoon drawing of Mount Rushmore on the front, jeans, black and white sneakers, and a small black backpack. Meg is five foot, three inches tall, dirty blonde hair dyed platinum, and weighs approximately 135 pounds. Please, please, PLEASE share and keep your eye out. _ Then there's contact information for her parents and the police."

"Oh, no," Paige said. "I wonder if it's made the news yet."

Ralph was scrolling through the comments. "Looks like local is leading with it at five."

"Good."

"I don't recall seeing her that night," Patty said. "Did you?"

"When you went off to get that disgusting popcorn, she walked about, I don't know, ten feet in front of me on her way toward the stage."

"The comments," Patty said, sitting next to Ralph and peering at his phone even though she held her own, "they're saying she was near the stage."

"Spotted near the stage at certain points," Ralph said. "This guy says he saw her talking to someone a few rows behind where we were when Phoebe Meyers was singing."

"Bullshit. No one was looking at anyone but Phoebe Meyers when she was singing."

"Bold of you to assume that guy is into women."

"You don't have to be to stare at Phoebe Meyers."

"This Bradley Bradley guy says her backpack was turned into the lost and f…oh wait, says in the replies that it wasn't hers."

Paige slipped into the hallway, walked down to the end, where there was a floor to ceiling window and a couple of chairs next to the exit door. She sank down into one of them and called Walter.

"Hi, Paige."

"Hey, uh…I think I need to stay here a little longer."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"…yeah. Okay. Did you want me to forbid it?"

"You can't exactly forbid me from spending more time with my son."

"And I wasn't. And I don't want to. Why are you always on the defensive?"

_Because you act like you couldn't care less if I'm around. _"Forget it."

"I prefer to. What's going on there?"

"You mean other than the stage collapse?"

"Obviously, since I already know about that."

"Someone is missing," Paige said. "A nineteen – year – old student. She went missing from the concert, and apparently, we'll know more on the news tonight I guess, she wasn't found in the rubble."

"Has it been completely cleared?"

"For the most part. They don't believe there are any more bodies. But I guess there could be."

"Do we need to send someone out there?"

"I don't think so. But I'll let you know. How is Florence?"

"She went to a support group type thing last night…I'll tell you the details when you're home. She didn't come into work today but I'd told her to take the day for herself."

"How's our baby?"

"She's good. Do you want to talk to her?"

Paige's heart skipped a beat. "Yes, please!"

"Amber," she could hear Walter saying, "Mommy's on the phone. I'm going to put it on speaker so you don't drop it, okay?"

The word _mommy_ reached Paige's ear, and she thought she might burst into tears. "Hi, sweetheart, how are you?"

"I'm good. Singing with Daddy today."

"You and Daddy were singing? What were you singing?"

"Frozen 3!"

"Wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that one," Paige said. It was true, partly because of how much she knew Walter hated that whole franchise, and partly because she loved watching her husband and daughter dance around the living room singing together. "Is he making you eat your vegetables."

"Yes," Walter said at the same time Amber said "no."

"Walter."

"I am, she's being a little brat."

Paige heard Amber giggle.

They talked for a few more minutes, and then Amber asked _the_ question. "When are you back?"

"Not sure yet, honey," Paige said. "Ralph needs me for a little while. You and he are sharing me. Is that okay?"

"Sharing is good," Amber said. "I miss you."

"I know, lovey. I miss you too. But you like when big brother is happy, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. And he likes when you're happy too, so I'll come home soon, okay?"

"Yay!"

Walter took the phone off of speaker, and they spoke – without much tension – for a couple more minutes. Paige re-entered her hotel room to a frenzy.

Several other parents who had rushed to the area after the collapse were inside, sitting on the ottoman and in the chairs. Ralph, Patty, and a couple other college kids were perched on the bed, all staring at the TV.

Paige glanced at the screen. It was 5:01pm.

"Friends and family of Megan Mitchell are frantically searching for answers after their daughter attended the Rayburn Community College annual musical charity night on Saturday. Our own Jocelyn Compeau spoke with Mitchell's friend, Mara Austin, earlier today."

A reporter and a young girl – presumably Mara, although Paige had never seen her before – appeared on screen. Mara was speaking.

"She went to the event alone, and she's notorious for not bringing her phone with her, so when we didn't immediately hear from her we were anxious but not panicked. But it's been days at this point, she never doesn't come back."

"Megan Mitchell attended the Rayburn Community College's annual charity even to raise money to help victims of gun violence, inspired by the tragic loss of seven in a campus shooting seven years ago. A sophomore at Rayburn, she also attended the event the previous year…"

One of the college kids on the bed started to cry. Patty reached over and squeezed their hand.

"The police and first responders as well as search and rescue teams have combed through the rubble over the past six days," another reporter was saying, this one standing at the scene. "They do not believe any bodies remain inside. Of the remains at the coroner's, all are identifiable but one, and that body was categorized as male, and Meg Mitchell is a cisgender female."

The shot cut back to Jocelyn Compeau and Mara Austin. "What would be words you'd use to describe Meg, Mara?"

"Smart," Mara said. "Pretty. Sweet. I can't stop thinking of her father. He's been trying to get a flight out of St. Lucia, but with the hurricane…"

"Why didn't he evacuate?" one of the parents asked.

"I'm sure his big ass resort can withstand some wind."

"Don't be like that. His child is missing."

Paige sank down on the bed next to Ralph. She'd just talked to her daughter. Her daughter was fine. Her son was fine. He was next to her.

Her son put his head on her shoulder.


	40. Chapter 40

**Couple notes: **

**My mental health is as bad as it's been since 2012, and while that sometimes makes me write up a storm, it sometimes just kills my creativity and motivation and that's what happened here.**

**Secondly, I was exposed to COVID-19 at work on the 19****th****, so 10 more days until I am in the clear. Being home away from work should also make me more productive, but I'm quarantined with my folks and we are all on top of each other. When I was 16 I was brave enough to write fanfic with them right there, but 27 year old me is a coward. XD. I will try to get another update up this week, though! Thank you to everyone still reading and reviewing. The "thirdly" will come at the end of this chapter.**

* * *

Paige felt as if time was flying and dragging on at the same time.

She missed Amber. She missed home, her own bed. She hated not being there to figure out what was going to happen with her marriage. But at the same time, each day that went by was a day closer to when she left her son. Again. For so many years it had just been the two of them, and now they were always saying goodbye. She knew things changed. She knew people moved away and moved on. But she missed the days that they were all together: her, Walter, Ralph, Amber, Happy, Toby, Tad, Ellie, Florence, and Sylvester. The couple months after Amber's birth before Ralph and Patty had left for good had been the happiest of Paige's life. It occurred to her that even if Tilly survived – and odds were good at this point – they might all not ever be together, in one place, ever. That made Paige almost as sad as each passing day, that brought her closer to another goodbye.

Each day that passed also meant the odds of Meg Mitchell being found alive grew slimmer.

"We're going to the student building," Ralph said. They were in his and Patty's and Daisy's apartment. Paige was on her laptop. It had been good to see Amber. The little girl had been delighted when her brother had joined in on the Skype call. She barely knew Patty, but had waved politely and said hello when Walter prompted her.

"Okay," she said, nodding at her son. "I'm going to go back to the hotel and take a nap."

"You can nap here, Mrs. O'Brien," Daisy said. "This couch pops right out; it's actually pretty comfy. Like, not even for a sofa, it's _legit_ comfy."

"Please stay, Mom," Ralph said. "You're leaving so soon. We'll make dinner when I get home."

* * *

"That backpack they found wasn't hers," said Peter McClosky, a TA who was known for being strict and unhelpful, but who had been surprisingly forthcoming with assistance since Meg Mitchell's disappearance. Some of the message boards were accusing him of being involved. _The perp always wants to help with the search, _declared MyCrimeObsession0608. _He. Has. An Alibi. I am so sick of people chasing down something they want to be the case when the evidence proves otherwise. Why am I even still on these message boards with you dumb novices,_ retorted the ironically named thehusbanddidit.

It was true, of course, that Peter was not the one who had caused Meg to disappear. He was with a the professor he TA'd for during the concert, and the two of them were on a Skype call with other professors teaching the same class across the state. He had nine separate people – and the recorded video – as an alibi. Then, during the night, multiple people had seen him at the window of his first floor graduate dorm room, reading. Dorm surveillance proved he hadn't left until the next day. He was clear. But pages and pages of posts accusing him were on every site, every comment section, and cries that the accusations of someone who couldn't be the answer were muddying up potentially good info were lost in the pandemonium.

"How do they know it wasn't hers?" Asked Quinn, the student who had cried in the hotel room during the initial news report.

"The backpack they found was from a different manufacturer. It also had personal effects in it that didn't match what she was known to own. So now it's on one of the lost and found pages," Peter said.

"Three more people got released from the hospital today," said Darley Jansen. He himself had been released the previous day. He read off the names of the newly discharged. "That leaves…how many still in there, let's see…"

"Too many," Daisy said.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Patty joked.

"This is serious, Patricia," snapped Mara.

"She was just giving me a hard time," Daisy said. "She didn't mean to be flippant."

"No, it was the wrong time, sorry, Mara," Patty said. She sounded as if she wasn't sorry, but felt apologizing was the right thing to do. Mara seemed to detect that, but she smiled anyway. "Thank you."

Jessica White, a fifth year senior, noticed her boot was untied. She reached down and tightened the laces. Frowning, she untied them and then tied them again.

"They're doing a grid search of the fields outside of campus, but really they're looking for footprints or something that was dropped. _She_ isn't out there, that much they're pretty sure of." Mara folded her arms. "They told me not to go out there with them. I could search just as well as the rest."

Tuck, a freshman who was active on the message boards, spoke up. "They usually discourage the loved ones from taking part in the search because they don't want them to have to-"

"Find her. Or him. Them. The victim. I know." Mara bit her lip. "Her dad is flying in in the morning. They'll be hard pressed to stop him from taking part."

"I get it," Jessica said. "Wanting to search. Even if you know it's best you let the more experienced do their jobs, when there's basically untrained volunteers out there, it's hard to understand why you aren't joining in yourself. I understand that."

"No one can _possibly_ understand what they're going through right now," said Tuck.

"No, not _exactly_ what they're going through, but my…" Jessica let out a breath, slowly, through a small gap in her lips. "My little brother went missing. Eleven years ago this winter."

"I'm so sorry, Jess," Daisy said.

"Oh gosh," Tuck said, crossing his right ankle over his left. "Was he older or younger than you?"

"Younger. I was twelve, he was eight. We were playing at a campsite. I went back to the camp fire, my dad and mom were gathering wood, he…he must have wandered off, or…or…we don't know. We started the search _so fast_. There wasn't a trace of him."

"Holy shit," said Peter.

"Were there ever any leads at _all_?" asked Patty.

"Super rarely. There was a still from a film people said was him, you know, like how they say the Lady of the Dunes was an extra in _Jaws_. But they tracked that kid down. Found out who he was. Once they busted up a…a bad place. He wasn't there either. That I'm glad of." Jessica pulled her knees up to her chest. "The parents still do public appeals for information on the anniversary. Occasionally at other times; his eighteenth birthday last year. The police will reveal new sketches every few years, saying what he might look like now. But they still mention what he was last seen wearing, as if he'd still be out there, nineteen years old, wearing a little Lego Movie tee shirt, red jacket, jean shorts, and white and black Nikes, size two." She grew quiet.

"That must be hard," Ralph said. "Having to keep going public like that."

"Honestly?" Jessica said. "The worst part has been those new drawings. We have memories of him the first eight years. Experiences. Now? We have nothing but age progressions. We've watched him grow up on missing person flyers and billboards."

That hit Ralph harder than anything that had been said since Meg's disappearance became public. He excused himself to the bathroom and stood at the sink, his head tucked to his chest.

* * *

**Thirdly, I hate everyone being split up as much as Paige does. The team will be back together soon!**


	41. Chapter 41

"Sylvester loves you."

"Shut the _hell_ up, you stupid bird," Florence snapped. Sylvester wasn't working today, that made it easier for her to come in. She was experimenting with some new adhesives; once she was done, she would pass her samples on to Happy. It was odd, completing a hired job in such a disjointed fashion. But with four children under ten between the group, Paige in Texas, and Toby guest lecturing at the local colleges, it was hard for them to all be together.

Of course, it was hard for them to all be apart, too. A different kind of hard.

"Sylvester loves you," Super Fun Guy squawked again.

Walter looked over at the bird with some alarm. "Is he talking to you?"

"He's repeating the same crap that Toby taught him to say. Don't start."

Walter turned his computer mouse upside down and studied it. He set it back down. "Tracking oddly."

"What?"

"Nothing." Walter studied her. "You are still having such a rough time. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm going to that meeting again. It didn't feel as wrong being there as I thought."

"Good. I have to pick up Amber at four."

"Early night for the Gallos?"

"What?"

"You said you had to pick Amber up at four."

"Oh." Walter frowned.

Florence approached the subject gently, folding her hands as she leaned over her desk. "Didn't realize you said it out loud?"

"No." He looked down, still frowning. "That's been…happening. A lot. Lately. More often than before."

"It's okay, you know. When I came out of my coma, I didn't feel normal for a long time. Your head trauma is a perfectly legitimate excuse for everything you've had going on."

"I don't want excuses," he said. "I never needed them before. My brain was enough."

"Walter." She got up and crossed the space between their workstations, sitting on the desk and watching him. "We're human, the both of us. Humans have limitations. But we can turn them into strengths by recognizing what they are and doing what we have to do to overcome it, whether that means adjusting, dictating to others, assigning tasks to others, or just looking at a problem a different way. It doesn't make us weak or stupid. It's what…normal people do."

Walter lifted his head and looked at her, something new in his eyes. Alarm? No, Florence thought. It wasn't alarm. But it was…something.

Then he stood. "My God, Florence, you're absolutely brilliant." Leaning over, he kissed her on the cheek before grabbing his coat and running out of the garage.

Florence stayed stock still, staring in the direction he had gone. "I…" she said to the empty building. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome!"

Florence jumped, having forgotten that Super Fun Guy was there. "Jesus tap dancing Christ."

* * *

Linda had them break off into groups. "It's easier to talk when it's more informal," she said. "We've been doing some big group sharing and other activities with everyone, but we've got some new folks and we want them to feel as at home here as us long timers do."

Florence was grouped up with Hope, Morgan, and Leela. Hope was the other newcomer of their foursome. She wanted to talk first, and she was getting no objection from Florence. She knew she'd have to open up to them. But she wanted to see how Morgan and Leela responded to someone first.

"I married a man older than me," Hope was explaining. "I was twenty-eight, he was forty-nine. Not really a big deal, not like he met me when I was a kid or anything, but…I think…I think his age had a lot to do with this." She sighed, rubbing her hands on her jeans. "I got pregnant. It took us a while; we both got fertility tested and were fine, so I guess it was just stupid luck. Three years into the marriage. Well anyway, I want to do a home birth, in a tub. It's harder than you'd think to get a midwife who is professionally trained and is willing to do it, but my husband had money. My labor was ridiculous. I was having contractions off and on for over a week before things really got started, I wasn't sleeping, I was exhausted before the hard part even came along."

Florence bit the inside of her mouth. The flashbacks to Tilly's birth were still almost unbearable. She focused on Hope's knee, and on her voice, struggling to keep the images, the smells, the feelings at bay. Her finger ached where her ring had dug into it, even though the injury was healed. The smoke from the plane crash…she shook her head slightly, clearing her senses.

"…and by then, I was just so tired," Hope continued. Florence felt bad for zoning out. "My husband kept on telling me to focus, to just breathe and push and the little one would be there before we knew it." I swear I pushed for a day, even though I know they wouldn't have let me for that long. I was so tired I couldn't even enjoy seeing the baby for the first time. "A son," my husband said. He repeated it. "A son." He told me how well I'd done, how handsome the baby was, I held him for a bit and then they wrapped him all up and I got down to the rest of the gross stuff that happens when you have a baby. My husband was holding him. Marveling over him. Talking about how loved he was. He left the room and called his relatives. Everyone was over in an hour. I was so tired. But we had to show off this baby." Hope stopped, staring down at her knees. "It was around the time the guests started leaving that I began to cry. My sister asked me what the matter was. She was probably expecting a hormonal response. But I'd just realized that my husband hadn't told me he loved me through the whole ordeal."

"You think he just wanted the baby," Morgan said.

Hope nodded. "He did just want the baby. He was getting older. Time was running out. That was four months ago."

"How is the little one doing?" asked Leela.

"I don't know," Hope said. "When I realized I was – or at least had become – an incubator, I left him. He had the money. He has lawyered up and won't let me see Seymour. Word has it he's got a nanny for him. Word also has it she's about six months away from giving him another one."

"Hope, I'm so sorry," Florence said.

"Are you going to fight it?" Leela asked.

"What can I do?" Hope said. "He's a wealthy white dude. I'm a lower middle class black woman. And we all know how this country is."

"I, my, um…" Florence stammered. "I know some people who know the law. That could...help." Maybe offering up Sylvester wasn't the best idea, given their circumstances. But she felt for Hope. She wanted to help.

"What good would it do?" Hope said. "I don't have much of an education, I don't have money. I don't even have a stable place to live. I'm so stupid. I should have just knuckled under and stayed with him."

"No," Morgan said, "no one should have to stay in a situation where they're being used."

Hope big her lip, tugging at one of her acrylics. "I just feel really lost. My life doesn't have direction anymore. I don't even know if I want to fight for custody. He'll just make things miserable. And I know he'll care for Seymour. That little one will want for nothing."

"Did you…please don't take this as an insult," Morgan said, "I don't mean it to be, but…did you ever want him? Seymour."

Hope was quiet a moment. Then "you know, I don't really think that I did. I thought I would grow to want him, grow to love him, you know, like that lady in the musical about the pie. My husband took me to see it on tour. She didn't want her baby, didn't want her baby, wasn't excited about the pregnancy, not a party, but then she gave birth and she saw the little one that'd been inside her kicking and rolling and she knew that she loved her. I didn't have that moment. I had nothing like that. In a way, I'm almost glad I don't have to be his parent. I wouldn't have done well. He doesn't deserve to grow up with a mother who is indifferent. The woman he's with now, she's so maternal. She loves kids, makes her living that way. She'll do so much better for him than I ever could."

"You don't know that," Florence said.

"No, I do. No offense. I just know me better than you do."

"That's fair," Florence conceded.

"We're all here if you need anything," Leela said. "I mean, if you need a place to stay, I have a couch."

"I have a spare room," Morgan said. "You could go back and forth…"

"Thanks, but I…" Hope shifted her weight. "I'm not comfortable enough with that. I'd feel like too much of a burden to folks I barely even know. I'm just…scared. I'm scared of any course of action. I think I'll do this, but no I can't. So maybe I do this, but no, I can't bear that either." She looked at her hands. "Can I be done?"

"Of course," said Leela.

"Florence. Do you want to talk at all?"

Morgan's voice was gentle, but Florence wasn't ready. Not to share all the details. But… "I guess…I mean, I have PPD, that's…that's the thing. The main thing. My daughter was born early. Really early. And I'm sort of stuck inside my head, roommates with the trauma of her birth, well, not trauma, it was, it was just a, it was…"

"Trauma," Leela said. "I know people make fun of that word. She's been traumatized, she's triggered, whatever. But they're real things. We can use the words."

Florence bit her lip and nodded. "Okay. I was traumatized by her birth. And I felt like a bad mother. And I was scared she was going to die, so I kept my distance. Which just made me feel like a worse mother. And then people only referred to me as her mother, or his wife, and it was like my entire identity was gone. And then I realized I was basically codependent in my relationship, so I separated from my husband, which hurts him, which hurts me."

"Codependency can be rough," Leela said. "My ex and I were like that. Couldn't go a day without seeing each other or we had panic attacks."

"I was like that," Florence said. "I was constantly afraid of things, afraid of pain, of losing the baby, of what would happen next, and if I wasn't with him, leaning on him…I would lose control."

"How has it been since your separation?" Hope asked.

"It's sucked. I cry a lot. I cried in the arms of a few of my coworkers a few weeks ago. I've felt like this endless fog is around me. And it's harder because I don't have my husband to lean on. But I just…I have to get past this so I can learn to handle things on my own again."

"Were you guys codependent when it came to other things? Like, couldn't go out without him, couldn't spend an evening alone?"

"No," Florence said. "But as soon as any type of crisis happened…I couldn't function. And he…" her voice was threatening to crack, so she paused. "He missed the baby's birth. It wasn't his fault. Everything happened so fast."

"I…I don't want to really start picking apart your relationship," Morgan said, "so forgive me for it. But…isn't that a major part of relationships? Leaning on each other when times get tough? No one wants to go through hard times alone. If my mom hadn't had my dad when her parents died, she might have…uh…you know."

"I guess," Florence said. "But like, I could. not. function."

"You like being strong and independent," Leela said. "I can see that in you. It can be hard to learn that it's okay to be vulnerable."

_But I am vulnerable!_ Florence though. _Sylvester's seen all sides of me. He saw me through my coma. He's the only person I've slept with._ "I have gotten better at that," she said. "But I don't know how to draw the line. How do I know what is just leaning on your spouse, and what is too much?"

"It might be a good idea," Leela said, "to not ask yourself that. Ask yourself if you're allowing him to take care of you when you need it. Don't ask what's too much. Ask what is too _little. _If the roles were reversed…if he'd been traumatized by some event, would you have wanted to be there for him?

_I was._ He'd shot someone, shortly before they'd gotten together. He'd done it in defense of his friends. The person had died. It had been a necessary action. But it had haunted Sylvester. Even years afterward. His eyes would glaze over. Or he'd wake up crying. Shaking. She'd held him. And comforted him. And talked it over with him, time and time again. She'd loved him through it. And she'd told him, more than once, that _you'd do the same for me._

He'd tried. Or maybe, she thought, he believed he was still helping her, by letting her call the shots. She hated not know if she wanted that, or wanted guidance.

More than anything, she wanted his arms around her. She wanted to be _close._

"You'll be okay, love," Hope said, patting Florence's chair. "We've got you, and it sounds like you have other people who've got you, too. This is a maze, but we'll get through it."

"Yes we will," Florence said, a small smile on her face. She said it partly for Hope's benefit.

But she said it partly because she believed it. These women, these women that she had only met one week ago, were somehow making her see a light that hadn't been present in months. It was faint, that light. But it was enough to tell her this was the right direction.

This way to safety.


	42. Chapter 42

**Hope you're all staying safe out there, friends.**

* * *

Paige and Ralph stood just outside of the airport's security checkpoint.

"I wish we could have spent more time together," Ralph said. "Though I guess you only came because of the disaster." His eyes widened. "I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't, sweetheart," Paige said. "I always wish we could spend more time together. Please let us know if we can help at all."

"I've been thinking so hard," he said, "about how Scorpion could help. I'm at a loss. This is something I don't have an answer to. I know I've said this before, but I'm not used to not knowing how to fix something. I'll never be used to it. At least having an idea means I have something to work for, something to make or…or calculate…I'm scrambling here, and coming up with nothing."

"I want to say it's okay to not have all the answers," Paige said. "No human does. Not even the geniuses."

"And not even the smart ones like you," he said with a smile. "You know what Jessica told us? That the worst part about her brother going missing was not having the answers. Having to watch him get older in age progressions instead of in person, not knowing if he was still out there, older, or stuck in time. That haunts me. I can't get it out of my head."

"I can't even imagine," Paige said.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart." Paige slid her arm across Ralph's back – he was too tall to put it over his shoulders. "I miss you already."

"The rest of our family will be waiting for you the next time you see the doors of an airport," he said. "And remember. Whatever happens with you and Walter, I support you. One hundred percent."

"Thanks, Ralph," she said. They turned to each other and hugged, for a long time.

They exchanged _I love you_s again, and Paige headed for TSA.

* * *

She spotted Walter and Amber almost the same moment that Walter spotted her. He was holding Amber's hand, and he tugged at it gently to get her attention, then pointed. Amber broke into a big grin at the sight of Paige. "Mommy!"

"Hey, bee bee," Paige said, dropping down into a hunker when Walter let Amber go and the little girl ran toward her. Paige wrapped her arms around her daughter, holding her tightly against her. "Oh, sweetheart, I missed you so much."

"I missed you, Mommy," Amber said.

"Were you a good girl for Daddy?"

"I'm always good."

Paige chuckled. She was exhausted, but being with her youngest child again was rejuvenating. "It's so good to have you back in my arms, darling girl."

Paige struggled to her feet, pulling Amber to her hip, as Walter approached and took hold of her suitcase's handle. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, using her free arm to hug him.

He kissed her on the cheek. "Good to see you. Flight okay?"

"Yeah." She kept her arm across his back another moment. She couldn't tell if she was body tired or mind tired.

Amber had her head tucked against the crook of Paige's neck. "You ready to go home, sweetheart?"

"Sleepover," Amber said. She looked up at Paige with a grin on her face. "Sleepover! Sleepover!"

Paige gave Walter a questioning look. He shrugged. Paige rolled her eyes and cuddled her daughter again.

The drive home began quietly, once Amber rattled on about how her stuffed animals were having a baby. "Ambie," Walter said. "Do you want your music on?"

"They Can't Stop Us Now!" Amber said, the name of her favorite kids' album.

Paige turned the music on. "What do you say?" she asked.

"Thank you, Mama," Amber said.

"I heard there's been no advancement on the missing person case," Walter said in a low voice once the toddler was properly distracted.

"None at all," Paige said. "It's like she went into thin air."

"How are her friends handling it?"

"All of them want to help. They disagree on how is best. Some are on those websites trying to clarify what is and isn't factual information, which has helped some, but it has also lead to imposters. Some are giving interviews on podcasts – and of course, those vary in quality so much – and some are opposed to those podcasts profiting off of their pain and Meg's life."

"Wait. How are they profiting?"

"Sponsors. That kind of thing."

"Ah. Right." Walter drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I keep thinking Scorpion would be able to help somehow, but…"

"Yeah. I just don't see how our skillset…I mean, she's not missing in the wilderness or in the desert. She…" Paige shrugged. "I haven't felt this helpless in a long time."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault."

They drove in silence for several more miles. "Any cases we're working on?" she asked.

"Toby and Cabe went to help the owner of a hotel figure out who has been stealing from the guest rooms," Walter said. "Was pretty easy considering, well, Toby. Then Happy and Toby and Sylvester had a job in Redondo Beach involving construction. Florence assisted remotely. She's been better, I think."

"Linda's group helping?"

"I haven't asked her too many questions."

"What about her and Sly?"

"They're still very awkward around each other."

"Ugh."

They spent the rest of the drive in silence.

* * *

Paige showered almost immediately once she arrived home, feeling some of the fatigue dissipate. She tried to push the worry about Meg and her son and his friends out of her mind. She wasn't there, anymore. Letting it take over her thoughts wouldn't help her right now. She needed to refocus on her family _here_.

She made Amber a snack, and noticed Walter eyeing the way she played with the cheese on her plate. Paige felt a twinge of annoyance. She didn't say anything.

As afternoon turned to evening, Amber started asking what time it was. "Why are you so obsessed with the time, silly girl?" Paige asked. Amber just giggled.

"Amber," Walter said, making a show of checking his watch the fourth or fifth time the girl asked. "It is going to be seven o'clock very soon."

Amber jumped up and ran to her room.

"Has she suddenly decided she wants to sleep a half an hour _before_ her bedtime?" Paige asked. "What on _Earth_ have you done to our daughter?"

Walter smiled.

Paige eyed him. "Are you trying to teach her to tell time? Walter, she's…"

There was a knocking at the door. Then more knocking. Harder knocking. Paige got up, eyes slightly widened in concern. She glanced at Walter, hurrying to the door and peering through the peep hole. She frowned. "Cabe and Allie." Opening the door, her confusion increased at their big smiles.

"This is a kidnapping!" Allie announced.

"Yes," Cabe said, showing her his badge. "My colleague and I demand the girl named Amber."

"Okay, your words and expressions are alarmingly contradictory," Paige said.

"I told you we're bad actors," Cabe said to Allie.

"And I told you if we tried to be scary she might take us seriously."

"Why would she think we suddenly went rogue and maliciously wanted to steal Amber?"

"Hello! She's confused," Paige said, gesturing to herself.

Cabe chuckled. "You look bright – eyed for someone who took a flight earlier today," Cabe commented, kissing Paige on the cheek.

"She definitely showered as soon as she got home," Allie said with a laugh.

"You all know how much I hate smelling like plane."

"That we do," Cabe said.

"So _what's_ going on?" She asked.

"Well, we're here to pick Amber up for a little sleepover," Cabe said.

Amber bounded down the hall, her backpack awkwardly sliding down her arms. "Sleepover!"

"That's right, kiddo," Allie said. "You don't mind?"

"No. No, of course not." Amber was going to be going to bed within an hour anyway; Paige was thrilled to be reunited with her daughter, but she couldn't do that when the little girl was asleep. "You give me a hug, you hear me, Amber?"

She dropped down, squeezing the little girl tightly before standing up to let Walter hug her goodbye. "We'll see you tomorrow, Little Bit," he said.

"We'll get lunch this week, all of us?" Allie asked.

"Sounds good to me," Paige said.

"We'll bring her back around eight tomorrow," Cabe said. "That work?"

"Yeah. Yeah." Paige was still a bit surprised, but Amber had the biggest grin on her face. She'd clearly known in advance she was going to be 'kidnapped.'

When the door closed behind them, Paige turned, heading back toward the living room. She stopped when she saw Walter standing there, leaning against the wall, looking at her intently. "What?" She looked back toward the door. "What's this all about?"

"You. Us."

"I don't understand."

"I've been ignoring you," he said, stepping closer and reaching out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Or m – maybe not ignoring. But I haven't been attentive. I haven't been present. I haven't been the husband you deserve to have."

"Walter, you're…"

"No, please let me talk," he said. "I know that my head injuries have complicated things. I don't know what's going to happen with me down the road. But right now, I still have to be present. Because I still _can_ be." His fingers stroked her cheek. "I can be, I need to be, and I want to be. And that starts tonight. Amber's spending the night with Cabe and Allie so you and I can be alone together, uninterrupted."

She knew he was about to kiss her, but she kissed him first, a soft, gentle kiss that he returned, moving his hand to cradle the back of her head. She curled his shirt around her fingers, deepening their kiss, whimpering quietly when he slid his arm around her waist. She was glad that she'd showered. She would _especially_ hate to smell like plane right now.

Walter moved his lips to her neck, sliding his arms around her and holding her tightly to him. She let out a shuddery breath, closing her eyes, feeling the world start to spin around her.

"Wait," she said, putting her hand on his chest and pushing their bodies apart.

Walter's eyes searched hers, his head cocked ever so slightly.

Paige let out a deep breath. "Just…just before we, before anything happens…" she gave the tiniest of nods. "I love you."

A warm smile came over his face. "I love you too," he said, taking both of her hands. "So much more than I did the first time I told you."

She stepped closer again, tucking her head into his shoulder. It felt good to hug him. It felt good, him hugging her back. She'd missed this closeness. She felt half starved for it. For _him._

She lifted her head, and he kissed her; she'd wanted him to; she put both hands on the side of his face and pressed her body against him. He took a step backward, half sitting, half propping himself up on the back of the couch. She moved with him, stepping in close, straddling his left leg to get as close as possible. He wrapped his arms around her waist, steadying her.

"Are you going to be okay?" She murmured. "Serious question." She kissed him again, on the mouth, then along the jaw, then on the cheek.

"Yes," he said. "I monitored my nutrition intake and made sure I got sleep, and I took some medicine to help with dizziness and blood flow." He smiled at her. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"Okay good," she said with a smile.

He straightened up, reaching for one of her hands. "Come on, Love. Let's go to bed."


	43. Chapter 43

**Happy 50****th**** Earth Day! I always spend today outside as much as possible, but edited this while I was inside for some food. A follow up on last chapter, before we spring into all the rest again.**

* * *

_Of course we have our differences; you shouldn't be surprised.  
It's as natural as changes in the seasons and the skies.  
Sometimes we grow together; sometimes we drift apart.  
A wiser man than I might know the seasons of the heart._

Paige stretched, an action cut short by a cramp in her calf. Hissing quietly, Paige curled up into the fetal position, reaching down to rub her leg. Beside her, Walter didn't stir. He was laying on his back, head tipped in her direction, one of his hands resting on his chest. She smiled at the marks she'd left there, and on his neck; she also couldn't help but run through their inventory of clothing in her head, mentally sorting what they could and could not wear until the marks disappeared

It was a relaxing morning. Music quietly playing, sun peeking through the small open area between the curtains. She was happy, sort of, but there was a small part of her restless, uneasy even. She rolled to her other side, now facing Walter, wiggling her toes hesitantly to check the progress of the cramp. She closed her eyes, wondering if she might doze off again, although realistically she knew she couldn't. She couldn't sleep unless her mind was quiet.

_So I don't know how to tell you; it's difficult to say.  
I never in my wildest dreams imagined it this way.  
But sometimes, I just don't know you; there's a stranger in our home.  
When I'm lying right beside you is when I'm most alone._

Paige wanted to get up and turn off the music. But _this damn cramp._ But it wasn't just the cramp, or the lyrics, giving her that unpleasant feeling. She knew that her and Walter's issues didn't just stem from her not having been laid in a while. She knew that last night wasn't a miracle cure.

_And I think my heart is broken; there's an emptiness inside.  
So many things I've longed for have so often been denied.  
Still I wouldn't try to change you; there's no one that's to blame.  
It's just some things that mean so much, and we just don't feel the same._

_Love is why I came here in the first place.  
Love is now the reason I must go.  
Love is all I ever hoped to find here.  
Love is still the only dream I know._

Paige rolled over, reached for her phone, pulled up the remote app, and turned the music off. Her tossing and turning stirred Walter, and as she turned to face him again he groaned quietly, shifting his weight, and she saw his back arc as he stretched. His eyes were still closed, and she reached over, laying a hand on his chest. "Hey."

His eyes opened, and they focused on her briefly before looking down to where her hand rested. He covered it with his own. "Morning."

"Morning." She smiled. "It was good to have time with you last night."

He rolled to his side, linking his fingers with hers. "I'd missed you. I didn't…I know it was my fault, but I didn't realize how much…" He bit his lower lip. "I'm sorry about last night, though."

"Sorry for what?" Paige cocked her head.

"I – I…I…that was far from my best performance."

An amused scoff left Paige's lips. "What, do you rank them?" He opened his mouth to answer, but she pushed him gently to his back, then leaned over him and smiled. "I have no complaints." She kissed him, settling her body on his, and he wrapped his arms around her lower back, holding her in place. She'd felt completely sated when she'd fallen asleep last night, but as they kept kissing she felt her body coming alive, awakening again as if from a hibernation, hungry and motivated.

"I want you again," she moaned as his hands slid south of her back. Walter rolled them over, pinning her beneath him, lowering his mouth to her neck. She sighed, shuddering, wrapping her legs around him and grinding her hips to his to help him along. He took a bit longer than her to be ready now; whether this was an effect of age or the head trauma Paige did not know. She slid her hands around his back, moaning quietly again.

Then his tongue ran over a sensitive spot, a mark from the previous night, and her eyes flew open. The uneasy feeling was back. The racing of her heart was no longer exhilarating, no longer felt good. "Walter, stop."

He lifted his head. "What's wrong?"

"We, I, we, I…"

He cocked his head. "Paige?"

"Get off me, please."

"I can't."

She was about to ask why not, then realized she still had a vice grip on his hips. "Sorry." She dropped her legs, sitting up, pulling the comforter around her in response to a sudden chill.

Walter scooted up to sit beside her. "What's the matter?"

She bit her upper lip, staring forward, then sighed and looked at him. "We're good at this stuff. Like, we're _really_ good at this stuff. But Walt, we can't just have sex every time there's a problem here. It's not a miracle cure for everything we have going on outside of the bedroom."

"I know that," Walter said. "I only planned last night because I know I've been failing lately, and I wanted you to feel as loved and wanted as you are."

"I don't doubt your intentions for a moment," she said. "I promise." She reached over and took his hand. "And I love you. Impossibly much. But relationships can't work on love alone. And we've been doing _something_ wrong."

He nodded, squeezing her hand. "We have. We've been letting stress get to us. Snarking at each other."

"Picking fights."

He nodded.

"Remember…the first time we sort of kind of admitted we had feelings for each other, and we promised no matter what we'd keep-"

"Open communication," Walter said. He chuckled. "That was…"

"It worked for a while. But then you went to the speed dating, and it made me feel a type of way, and I didn't tell you. Then flash forward a couple months and we're both dating other people. Then when we do start dating each other, you have that dream about Florence, you don't tell me, when you do tell me I don't tell you how much it bothered me and how insecure I felt. Then you don't tell me you and her went to that presentation thing…" _Presentation thing._ What had once been so important to her she broke up with him over it, she couldn't even remember the name of it now. "…you don't tell me, and we break up over it." She looked him in the eye. "It's this pattern we have."

"Things are always good – or fixable – when we talk to each other. But as soon as we don't…" Walter blew a raspberry and used his free hand to make a thumbs down.

She nodded. "We have to make a decision, a conscious decision, to not let communication lapse again. Ever. We won't make it if we don't keep things open. How many times over the past months have we snarked at each other? Or wanted to say something but didn't, and then it festered into something worse? We both know what we have is worth the effort. We just have to actually do it." She knew why the song that had been playing when she woke up had bothered her so much. Because she understood, and because she feared losing him so very much.

"Sometimes I worry," Walter said, "if I'll ever be self – aware enough."

"You're always self – aware enough," Paige said. "Sometimes you're just too proud to admit it. Or you overthink."

"I always have the best of intentions when I overthink," he said.

"I know." She smiled at him. "We have to work harder. No matter how long we're together, we can't take one another for granted, even for a minute, or we'll fall apart again."

"Wrong," Walter said. "When one of us is in trouble on a job? We always show up for each other. You can continue to take that for granted."

She smiled. "Okay. Deal. Same here. But when we're _not_ seconds from disaster…" she raised her eyebrows.

"Then we don't hold anything back. If we're feeling upset, we talk about it. Insecure, talk about it. Worried, ditto." Walter kissed her cheek. "I don't know what my health will be like, or how it will change me as time passes. But you and the kids…every last effort is for the three of you."

"Same here," she said. "And, I mean, if you want to talk about how time passing changes you…" she gestured toward the dresser. "Get a load of _that_."

He looked confused. "What?"

Paige got out of bed, walking toward the mirror. "I mean, one look at me and you can see time has _passed_." She studied herself. Marks from pregnancies and childbirth. Slightly loosened skin in areas. The natural effect of gravity on a body. She still couldn't see much gray, but it was there, when she looked for it.

"Nonsense." Walter got out of bed, walking up to just behind her. "You look lovely."

"You're just saying that because I'm naked and you want to get some."

"Let's be frank for a moment," Walter said. "Who was the come-on party a few minutes ago?"

His tone was lighthearted and Paige laughed. "Fair. But Walter, I mean…I am _different_ from when we first slept together."

"Nearly a decade of living will do that to anyone," Walter said. "I mean, you want to talk about ageing, look at _me_." They were standing far enough from the mirror that when Walter stepped around her, both of their reflections were fully visible from the waist up. Walter made a face. "_Horrifying._"

Paige snickered. "I look worse."

"No. No. Definitely me." Walter looked down at his chest, and then back in the mirror. "You did a number on me." He folded his arms over his chest, as if shy.

Paige snorted. "Now…" she pointed at his reflection, "you look like Mr. Clean. Okay but listen." She lifted an arm. "Look at how my skin is-"

"And now, if Mr. Clean may say so, you're posed like the Statue of Liberty."

Paige glanced at her reflection. He wasn't wrong. "Okay but Walter, my arms," she started to put them out to the side, then hesitated, looking at him suspiciously.

"What?" He asked.

She put her arms out. "Gravity."

"Aha!" he said with delight. "Now you're Christ the Redeemer."

"I _knew_ you were going to say something." She rolled her eyes, failing miserably to keep a straight face. "Okay, do The Thinker."

Walter went to the edge of the bed, sitting and resting his chin in one of his hands. He held the pose for only a moment before he started to laugh, rolling off the bed and onto the floor.

Paige dropped down next to him. "I'm sorry, I don't know this one."

"Shut up," he wheezed. Paige grinned. "Hey," Walter said when he'd caught his breath. "I love you."

"Love you too," she said, both of them still grinning.

"Will you permit me one more surprise?" He said. "It's related to Ambie, and it's good."

She touched the tip of her finger to the tip of his nose. "I'll allow it."


	44. Chapter 44

Paige was back. That made Sylvester happy. It also meant that they all had the day off, because of course Walter wanted to spend time with Paige and Paige wanted to spend time with Amber and Cabe and Allie wanted some time to themselves since they'd be watching Tad and Ellie the following day. Sylvester almost called Florence, probably ten times, to ask if she wanted to hang out. But he didn't. He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

But then she'd called him, sometime around five o'clock in the evening. Did he want to, I don't know, go for a drive, or something? He'd said sure. So here they found themselves, somewhere north of the city, walking along the coast. It didn't matter that they weren't entirely sure where they were. They could get back with GPS. What a wild and carefree life, Sylvester thought wryly.

They parked the car and walked along the sidewalk until they reached an entrance to a beach. Florence took off her shoes, tying the laces together and throwing the makeshift strap over her shoulder. She frowned almost immediately. "Shoe hitting my boob with every step is not going to work." She put the knotted part in her hand.

"You could just leave them here," Sylvester said, "no one else is around."

"Absolutely not and you would have the same reply to me if I suggested you leave your shoes," Florence said.

"Fair point," Sylvester said. "I've gotten better at those things, though."

"One thought of how someone could ride by on a bicycle and spit their gum into one of your shoes and you'd super glue them to yourself to prevent that from happening." She grinned when Sylvester shuddered. "See?"

"I will stop talking now," he said, throwing her a smirk so she knew he was playing; she hadn't offended him.

It was tiring, walking on sand, but with the cooler temperatures that nighttime brought, it wasn't too bad. Sylvester hated their cases that had transpired on beaches. Always tense, always exhausting, always in the blazing heat. Here, it wasn't too bad. And with the row of palm trees and a low hedge separating the beach from the sidewalk, they had a small amount of privacy. He liked that. Florence seemed to, too; her step was a bit lighter than he'd seen it in a while, despite the sand. She appeared deep in thought. Normally, he'd ask her what she was thinking about. Or maybe not normally. He didn't know what normal was anymore. At least they had a case tomorrow at work. Nothing terribly exciting, or terribly terrifying, as he would put it. But it would be their first job since Paige returned. Maybe they'd be able to start figuring out what their new normal was.

"My support group has been going well," she said after a period of silence.

"That's good," Sylvester said. "I don't know if I'd have the guts to go to one of those things."

"I didn't think I was the type," she said. "But I want to get better, you know? I spent most of my life taking care of myself, and it's like I needed to learn that sometimes the best way to take care of yourself is to allow others to help you. And if that's the best way…can't argue with efficiency, you know?"

"It's hard to argue with, that's for sure," he replied.

"Linda's great," she continued. "A bit awkward, you know, but a sweetheart. You can tell she cares about all of us, which is weird, because who cares about _everyone_? Like obviously, Scorpion does, we want to save the world, but like, Linda acts like every person in the group is her main focus. Like if she had a bunch of kids, she probably _would_ love all of them equally. She seems like the type that would be lost if she didn't have a purpose, and she's found her purpose in making the world better. Not like we do. But in her own way."

"We all liked her," Sylvester said. "We weren't quite sure what Walter was doing with her; that seemed odd to us, but she seemed like a genuine person. And I mean, after the bomb incident, which was when the most of us learned she even existed…it's hard to dislike someone after you've seen them so vulnerable."

Florence grew quiet. He glanced her way. "You okay?"

"Yeah. It just reminded me of something Happy told me. That day where the two…where Walter, Cabe, and I rescued Tad?"

Sylvester knew why she'd cut herself off. _That day where the two teams lost people._ He'd shot someone that day. Killed him. He was going to kill them, but that hadn't made it less unsettling. Florence had helped, though. She was the first person who had made him feel better about it "What about that day?"

"Happy told me, this was years later, after my coma, that…well, you know how much everyone hated me when the team split."

He nodded.

"Happy told me that as suspicious of me as she'd been, and as much as she hated me after that happened, that was the day she stopped. I don't think we were truly friends for a long time, but she said she saw me crying at the fact that we weren't able to save Aimee's son. It was on the news, you know, me sitting there just sobbing my eyes out. She said she couldn't hate me after watching that. I can't say I'm glad that day happened. But I'm glad that that was able to come from it." She grinned up at him. "Happy's scary when she's mad."

"And that's coming from _you_."

She bumped her hip against him. "Shut up." Sylvester made a show of stumbling to the side, even though she couldn't knock him over on her best day.

His lack of balance in the sand while goofing off, however, could. His foot came down wrong, his ankle failed him, and he yelped as he fell to the sand.

"Nice try," Florence said with a grin, slight alarm coming over her face when she saw he was really down. "Sly!"

"I'm okay, just shattered my ankle," he said pushing himself to a sitting position.

"Shattered?"

"Probably not. Probably sprained. I'm a child."

She dropped down to the sand. "Breathe a minute. See if it subsides."

"It's fine. I shouldn't have been clowning." Sylvester wiggled his toes inside his shoe. Nothing seemed broken. Perhaps it wasn't even a bad sprain. "I'm dramatic."

"We all know that already," she joked. "These can hurt like a bitch, though."

"This reminds me of this one time Walter and Toby were trying to be show offs in the garage and both rode sandboards right into the wall."

"You know, it's so _baffling_ how Walter has brain trauma."

He laughed. "Right." He wiggled his toes again.

"Can you wiggle your toes?" Florence asked.

He looked at her oddly before realizing that she couldn't see what he'd been doing. "Yes. I'm going to try and get up."

"I think there's a bench about…" she squinted. "Maybe one hundred feet? Down further. We can sit until you feel more stable."

"You're cool sitting there for three to five business days?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll get you started at least."

Sylvester struggled to his feet. Florence offered out her hand, and he grabbed it as he got to a standing position, for just a little extra balance. She almost pulled him forward, as if she'd been expecting him to topple back and threw her whole body back to counteract it. She kept his hand even once he was balanced, looking at him cautiously.

"I'm good."

"Good." She dropped his hand, but stood next to him as he hobbled for the bench. "You know if I fall, you're not going to be able to stop it, right? I'm a foot taller than you."

"You're eight inches taller than me," she responded immediately.

They reached the bench, and Sylvester settled on it. Florence glanced around. "Do you think any of these places nearby would have ice?"

"There's a gas station probably a half mile up the road."

"Perfect. Be right back."

"No, no!" Sylvester said, holding his hand up to make the stop motion. "It'll be fine. Just sit with me a bit."

She did, lowering herself carefully to his right. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." It hurts but it isn't swelling up like a balloon. And I'd, uh, rather not sit here by myself."

"Aw, you're scared of the dark."

"I'm not scared, okay," he said. "I just, we don't come to this area all the time. And I think we should stay together."

"You're aware that you'll either have to walk nearly a mile to get the car or I'll have to go and get it myself."

"We can hobble over that bridge when we come to it."

Florence laughed and rolled her eyes. "Fine." She leaned back, closing her eyes.

"How have you been recently?" He asked. "I mean, other than your group. And other than the 'fine' you gave me in the car."

She shrugged. "I've been stressed, honestly. Just…generalized stress. Like something's always…_there_, and I can't shake it. In the back of my mind. Then all the other things people worry about. And I'm not…I'm not really ready to talk to you about all my feelings about…you know."

_Us. Tilly._ Sylvester knew. He wasn't sure he was ready for that conversation either. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Florence shook her head, her eyes closed, but he caught the tiniest of smirks come over her face, just for a moment. He tried not to smirk himself; he knew she was amused because of the way he helped her relieve stress when they were _married_ married.

"I mean, no one's around," he said jokingly.

She opened her eyes, looking startled. He opened his mouth to apologize, that was inappropriate, but she spoke first. "Sylvester, we're in _public_." She looked around. "I mean. Sort of." She gestured vaguely to the empty street.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "I mean…"

He could see her face flushing, even in the poor light. "Sly, people…"

"Okay, I'm just saying, offer's on the table." He faced the ocean. He could tell from his peripheral vision that she was still looking at him. He glanced at her again. "I wouldn't want anything in return."

"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "I'd feel guilty."

"Why?" He asked. It wasn't like that wasn't their dynamic for literal years. Her libido had always been higher than his. Guilt just wasn't a part of it. "You know me better than that."

Florene looked over her shoulder. "If someone sees we're both in a ton of trouble."

"We got away with full on stuff at the hospital when Amber was born."

"True." Florence scooted closer to him. "Okay. I think."

"Lori."

She cleared her throat. "Okay."

"There you go." He looked around again. The beach was deserted. Almost every shop along the street was closed. He could see someone moving around inside a building way down in the direction they'd come, but that was it. She was sitting on his right, and now that their hips were touching, if he put his right arm over her shoulders, it just looked like a couple enjoying a night in the sea air. Her pupils were dilated, probably at least in part due to the low light.

He crossed his left arm over his body and pushed his fingertips under her leggings, adjusting his other arm around her. He felt slightly awkward. He usually kissed her when they did this. His other hand was resting on her shoulder, and he moved that thumb slowly back and forth, a level of affection he felt comfortable with. His hand disappeared up to the third knuckle.

Florence craned her neck around, looking up the street. "Relax," he said soothingly. He knew how to touch her; this was as natural to him as breathing. He'd keep a look out.

She faced forward again, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Sylvester squeezed her shoulder in between thumb rubs. He peeked up the street. There was a man on a bicycle, but he was on the other side and didn't appear to be looking around. From the back, they looked inconspicuous anyway. Sylvester faced forward again, in case the cyclist did look around and was suspicious of the guy staring at him.

A couple birds flew overhead. They were followed a few seconds later by a couple more birds. One of them, just as they crossed above the bench, let out a squawk. A dramatically loud squawk."

Florence's eyes opened, and she put a hand over her mouth. He could feel her shaking a little; she was giggling. "He's seen us!"

Sylvester coughed to hide his snicker. Florence moved a hand to his thigh, her finger tips pressing against him. She moaned quietly, her lips pressed together. Sylvester caught himself; he almost had kissed her temple. That's what he'd have done. Before. He looked around again. Still no one. He remembered that day with the team at the other beach, when the two of them had almost gotten ahead of themselves. Had beaches become their 'thing?' Or was it just that the last couple of times they'd allowed themselves to _be_ themselves around each other, they'd happened to be near the water? It was probably a question that couldn't be answered with a traditional experiment; how would they come up with a control?

He was good at reading Florence. He could tell she was close by her breathing. He wouldn't be able to tell anything more, not externally, but she'd let him know. He kept up what he was doing, steady, consistent, trying to not let on how his heart skipped a beat when her other hand, the one not on his leg, came up to grip his hand as it rested on his shoulder. Her hand had been in his twice now tonight. He knew neither circumstance was _like that._ But it felt nice. He scanned the beach and what he could see of the street again. No one. They were okay. They were safe.

Florence let go of his thigh and grabbed his wrist. He understood. He removed his hand. She let out a deep breath, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees, trying to catch her breath. He chanced rubbing her back. That wasn't romantic. It was soothing.

After a moment, she leaned back again. "Thank you."

"Of course." His arm was around her again; she'd essentially put it there when she leaned against it. He wanted to kiss her. He wouldn't tell her that. He wouldn't make her uncomfortable, make her regret trusting him the way she just had. But he still _wanted_ to.

They remained sitting for a few more minutes, in relative silence. It didn't feel awkward. It was almost nice. Then she looked at him. "Let's go to that gas station. I gotta pee and you need ice."

"Oh, but how will we ever get back to the car, then?" He teased. "We'll be even farther away from it."

She rolled her eyes. "We can Uber back to the car."

He stared at her. He hadn't thought of that. "That's brilliant."

"Hey, I may not be a _genius_, exactly," she said, "but the old think tank can still spit out some good ideas."

**Team stuff next chapter, ayyyyyy.**


	45. Chapter 45

**CW for mentions of domestic violence, which will continue in the next few chapters (mentions only).**

* * *

"Hey Team, we've got a case," Cabe announced, striding authoritatively into the garage.

"Old news, Grandpa," Toby said. "We've been here for forty-five minutes already balls deep in Reiber's…"

"Not the Reiber job," Cabe said. "That's not time sensitive."

"Which is why we're doing it now," Florence said, "when we don't have other jobs."

"We do now," Cabe said. "Or rather, you all do now. I was sent to brief you and then I go back home to hang out with Allie and all your kids."

"Which despite the screaming and drawing on the walls is probably a lot more fun than the Reiber job," Walter quipped.

"What's the job?" Happy asked, straightening up and placing a hand on the small of her back."

"You guys are being flown to an undisclosed location – in the United States, though, so no passports needed – in order to assist the local government with a…" he trailed off. "Well, a somewhat delicate subject, from my understanding. Apparently a military veteran has been accused of murdering his wife, and because of who the person is, they want to get some idea of if there's enough evidence to formally arrest the suspect for it, because the story _will_ blow up regardless and they're hoping for something without a lot of gray areas. They brought him in for questioning last night and only have two days before they have to either release or charge. So you guys are getting on a plane in a half an hour to go out there and assist the investigative team. They asked for Scorpion by name."

"We haven't done this type of work before," Paige said. "At least not much."

"We can make it work," Toby said. "I can analyze behavior, and analyze the recording of the 911 call if there was one. Florence and Happy can assist with speeding up the processing of evidence. Walter and Sly can do calculations to see if a story is feasible in terms of time, angles, what have you. And Paige can deal with the bureaucracy of it all."

"Who is it?" Walter asked. "And what happened to the victim?"

"I haven't even gotten the details yet," Cabe said. "The downside to being retired is they don't tell you as much. I doubt I'd know the guy, other downside to being retired and he doesn't sound old enough for me to have worked with him. But that's probably a good thing – if I saw a name and thought 'no, no way he would do this,' that might taint our job. Objectivity is best."

"That's fair," Walter said. "So." He clapped his hands together. "Are we all on board?"

"Uh…" Sylvester hesitated. "I…I don't know if I should."

Cabe put his hand on Sylvester's shoulder. "Allie and I will check in on Tilly, Sly."

Sylvester bit his lip. "It's just…"

"I know. I know it's hard to leave them. And I know she's still in the hospital. But it's two days. And she's doing really well."

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," Toby said. "I'm sure we can manage."

"No." Sylvester looked up at Cabe and gave a little nod. "No, I'll go."

Paige fished through her purse and handed Cabe her house key. "For Amber's pajamas and change of clothes. And don't forget her toothbrush. And she loves high fives when she potties but make sure she washes her hands first. And-" She stopped when she saw the amused look on Cabe's face. "Right. Right. Sorry."

"I'll email you everything they've sent me," Cabe said, turning to head back out. "Wheels up in thirty."

* * *

When the plane began to descend, Paige peeked out the window for a clue to where they were. All she saw were trees, a couple stray buildings, and mountains. They appeared to be arriving at a private landing strip. Military? A rich person? It was anybody's guess. The suspect was a veteran, but that didn't mean he'd be held in a military facility.

Maybe this place was just that rural. An odd kind of town for a murder to take place. And Cabe had said this one would be high profile. She could understand that. Murder of someone who had no enemies in a small town, main suspect possibly a war hero, putting somewhere where 'this never happens' on the map. She'd seen it before. She was seeing it, in a way, with the missing girl on Ralph's campus. The school itself, her hometown, everyone involved was amplified in ways they probably had never expected to be – and in ways they certainly never wanted to be. Ralph updated her regularly. There were no leads. It was as if Meg Mitchell had vanished into thin air.

They exited the plane and were immediately brought into what appeared to be a standard police station. "Hello, Scorpion," said a man in a sheriff's uniform, approaching and shaking all of their hands. "I'm Sheriff Masterson. Thank you for coming. I am sorry that this is your introduction to our beautiful state."

"Uh, yeah, where are we?" Sylvester asked.

"Based on our flying time," Walter said, "and the topography, I've narrowed it down to six likely locations."

"You're in Montana," Masterson said.

"I was going to say Montana," Walter grumbled. Paige elbowed him.

"So, um, Mrs. Quinn-Curtis, Mr. and Mrs. Tipton-Dodd, Mr. O'Brien, if you could come with me, I'll brief you on some of the details. Mr. Quinn-Curtis, Mrs. O'Brien, Alice here will give you the information. We'd like to see Mrs. O'Brien talk with the suspect – she's the talker of the group, yes? – and Mr. Quinn-Curtis will watch from behind the glass to judge his behavior."

"Alright." Toby shrugged. He and Paige followed Alice down the hall. "So the suspect's wife, the victim," she said, "was found dead three days ago. She had been beaten and strangled. Her husband was nowhere to be found. We located him yesterday. He says that he was out in the mountains cleaning up his hunting cabin to prepare for the season. We want to know if you guys can prove either that he's lying or that he's telling the truth, so if we do make an arrest, we have all our ducks in a row. This guy is something of a hero out here, and with his military background…" she trailed off. "Alice Masterson, by the way. Not related to Ben Masterson the Sheriff. Very unfortunate coincidence. We're always having to explain that we're not siblings, married, or mother/son."

Paige smiled. "I bet that gets old."

Alice Masterson smiled. She opened a door, revealing a couple stairs up to a dark room with a couple of chairs. "Mr. Quinn-Curtis-"

"That is such a mouthful, you can call me Toby."

"And you can call me Paige, while you're at it."

Alice stared at her oddly for a moment. Paige didn't like it. She folded her arms. "Problem?"

"No, no, not at all. My apologies." Alice motioned to Toby, closing the door behind him. She led Paige another ten feet down the hall, stopping at the next door. "The suspect and an officer is in here – the officer will leave once you get settled but remain just outside the door for your protection. The suspect will not know the officer is there which is important. All I need you to do is get him to tell you his version of events. Can you do that?"

"Sure." Paige was slightly nervous. She'd never interviewed a murder suspect before.

"Don't interrogate him. Just ask for his version of events and tell him you're preparing his side of the story for a newspaper article once this breaks. 'This is your chance to get your story out before rumors start flying,' got it?"

"Sure."

"Great. Go on in."

Paige pushed the door open, revealing a tiny room with odd, slightly flickering lighting. There was a table, which had been pushed back to nearly be against the far wall. The first person her eyes fell on was the officer, who gave a silent nod in greeting. Sitting adjacent to him was-

Her jaw dropped.

"Paige." Tim Armstrong struggled to his feet, pushing the chair back the little it could move away from the table before hitting the wall. "I didn't do it."


	46. Chapter 46

**Sorry to leave you all hanging! It's been such a rare thing to get some moments alone to write, normally there's TVs on or people talking to me or I'm at work. But I actually managed to get a few hours alone today AND wasn't struggling with my chronic fatigue, so…I'd say "yay" but I think that's up to all of you, haha. ; )**

* * *

"_Paige. I didn't do it."_

The officer lazily looked up at his charge. "You know her?"

"Yes," Tim said. "She was, well, we were…"

"We do have a history," Paige said, finally finding her voice, and glad she was able to say something productive as opposed to reactive. "If you think that means I shouldn't talk-"

"No, no," the officer said. "Scorpion is needed on this case, that's what I was told, anyway. I'll leave you two in private – peace," he corrected himself, glancing between the two of them again. "Don't try anything," he directed Tim.

"Is that really a necessary comment?"

"Just watch yourself."

Tim glared at the officer as he left the room. "What a bastard."

Paige equally wanted to say _he's just doing his job_ and _he's acting like he's already decided you're guilty._ So she said nothing at all.

"Paige. Good to see you."

"I…certainly wasn't expecting this to be how my day went."

"You didn't know?"

"Not that the suspect was you. We weren't told much."

"Would you have still come if you knew it was me?"

_I don't know. _"It's a job, Timothy."

Tim nodded, folding his hands on the table. He looked down at them, almost intently. Paige waited. She didn't know how to do this. Finally, Tim looked up again. "I _didn't_ do it."

"Just tell me what happened."

Tim sighed, folding his arms. "I don't know."

"Just walk me through the day, Tim. It shouldn't be difficult, it was what, three days ago?"

"Three or four," Tim said. "They don't know when she was killed."

"Do you?"

"Jesus Christ, Paige."

"Walk me through your day. No…" she made a wiggling gesture with her hand, "..meandering."

He shrugged. "We got up, we…" he trailed off, glancing up at her.

"You what?"

"Well, you know," he said.

She tried not to wrinkle her nose. "Got it."

"Then we had breakfast, she was going to run some errands and, I don't know, maybe hang at home, maybe see some of her friends. I was heading to the cabin. It was about a forty – five minute drive, I got gas on the way…and then I just started working. I don't have a timeline once I'm there. I don't keep track of things like that."

"But she was alive when you left."

"Paige, of _course_ she was. She was my _wife_. The love of my life. The one thing that was mine, after all of those years of pain and trauma and uncertainty and abandonment. It was her and me. Us. I wouldn't hurt a hair on her head. I certainly never hurt you. I wouldn't have dreamed of it."

"This isn't about me," Paige said.

"No, of course." Tim nodded. "I know. It's about Lauren."

"Lauren." This was the first that Paige was hearing her name. Lauren. Lauren Armstrong. Armstrong? Tim was the type of person that wanted his wife to take his name, of that Paige was sure. But was Lauren the type to do it? Did she hyphenate, like Happy, Toby, Sylvester, and Florence? Or did she keep her surname all together?

"Yeah." Tim looked down at his hands. "Lauren." There was a long silence. "I cannot believe she's gone."

"And you have no idea what – "

"Of course I don't!" Tim snapped, glaring at her. "You know, just for one second, when I saw you standing in that doorway, I thought 'okay. Someone who knows me. Someone who will believe me.' I was relieved. Like you were a guardian angel summoned from nowhere to help me. But here you are, doubting me like everyone else."

Paige struggled to keep her voice measured. "Tim. I'm asking if you have any idea of why she was murdered. Did she have enemies? Is her employer currently facing a lawsuit? Does she owe anyone money? Was there some old flame still had it out for her? I'm not accusing you of anything. We're here to help." That wasn't entirely true - they _were _there to help, but to help the police, not Tim. Unless of course he was innocent. Then they'd help him as much as they could. "We're here," she repeated, quieter this time, "to help."

Tim was quiet again. Paige wanted him to say something, to fill the silence, so she couldn't hear everything rushing around inside her head. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be Walter, constantly questioning, usually unsettled, unable to drown out what was inside to focus on the world.

"Tim."

"Sorry." He scratched his chin. "There were two or three guys at her job. She worked at the movie theater. I used to sit outside in my car during her shift; she told me about these dudes and said they worried her. So I'd watch. I saw them a couple of times." He bit his lip. "I mean I don't know for sure that they were the ones…but that's all I can think of. God. I just wanted to protect her, and I couldn't even do that."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Paige said.

Behind her, the door cracked open. She looked over her shoulder and nodded to the officer. "Thank you for your statement, Tim," she said. She gave him a tiny nod. "Scorpion will figure this out. You know us. We get to the truth."

Tim nodded. "Thank you, Paige." His voice was quiet. Soft.

Paige turned and walked out the door, re-joining Masterson in the hallway.

"That's essentially the same thing he told us," she said in a low voice, once the officer had resumed guarding Tim and the door had clicked closed. "Do you have a feel on him? Since you know the guy?"

"You guys knew about us, didn't you? That we used to date, and that he worked with Scorpion. That's why you called us here."

Masterson said nothing, and the two women walked down the hall in silence before Paige broke it again, not being able to stand the swarming in her head. "He's a sweet guy. He's always been a sweet guy. And he's protective. He'd kill someone trying to hurt someone he loved, absolutely. But he isn't the type of guy who would do what he's accused of doing."

"Thank you for your input," Masterson said. They reached the main room. She gestured to one of the chairs. "Wait here."

* * *

Toby sat in the observation room, studying Tim's body language when the officer re-entered the room. His knee was bouncing. The officer sat down, and began reviewing Tim's statement, asking him to repeat certain parts, before easing into a couple of questions relating to Tim's prior relationship with Paige.

Masterson opened the door. "Mr. Quinn – Curtis?"

"Toby."

"Right. Toby." She eased inside the room and closed the door behind her.

"What does Paige think?" Toby asked.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to know what you think before we discuss any of your coworkers. Your skills as a behaviorist are unparalleled, and we want your completely honest opinion here, without bias."

Toby looked back into the holding cell. His stomach hurt.

He looked back at Masterson. "He did it."

* * *

**Back with more of the group next chapter!**


	47. Chapter 47

The team met in a conference room – which appeared to also double as the break room, if the McDonalds' bags in the garbage and the faint smell of fries were any indication.

The woman with them was Wanda, who did…something related to the coroner. She'd explained when they met her, but it hadn't quite made sense.

"What is it you do, again?" Sylvester asked. "I'm sorry."

"I answer phones for the police department as well as the coroner's office," Wanda said.

"For like the non-emergency line?"

"No, both," she said. "We're very rural. I answer the phone, transfer the call to the police station if it's an emergency, send the info to them if it's not, and then direct folks when they have a question about something related to the coroner. My office is in front of his."

"Ah." Sylvester glanced at Toby and shrugged.

"Rural life," Toby said.

"Probably pretty easy to get away with a crime in places like this," Florence said quietly, as if to herself. Paige glanced at her.

"I am just so sad about Lauren," Wanda said. "That whole family is just coated in tragedy."

"That so?" Happy asked.

"Her mother – Lauren's mother – died of a brain aneurysm when she was just five years old. Her father remarried when she was nine, to a woman quite a bit younger than him, and then he died six months later in a factory accident. Left behind her, her seven year old brother, and a twenty – two year old widow who suddenly was a single parent to two kids who hadn't taken much of a liking to her yet. But damn if she didn't stick around and step up for those kids. She worked her ass off to provide for them and let them stay in the town they'd grown up in, where their grandparents lived. To give them stability and consistency. Lauren always said that letting Diane in – that was her stepmother's name – was the smartest thing she ever did."

"Where is Diane now?" Happy asked.

"She's in Tacoma. Lauren's brother's got some health issues and she's taking care of him. You know, she said when Lauren and Tim got married that she could take care of Derrick with less guilt now that she knew that Lauren was going to be okay. She felt safer throwing her energy into him instead of splitting it. She trusted Tim. A Navy SEAL. Why wouldn't you trust a serviceman? I can't imagine sweet Tim had anything to do with this."

"Well," Happy said, "I think, statistically, there are bad people in the military. Just based off of the sheer numbers. There's bad doctors, you know, and shady mechanics. And service workers, and law enforcement, and computer programmers, I mean, you're never going to find a profession that's entirely made up of good people. And I think the bad apples in the military sometimes get away with more than they should, because they use the good reputation of the armed forces to their advantage. People trust them, and give them the benefit of the doubt, because of what they do. The bad service workers, they just get fired."

Wanda gave Happy an appalled look. "They brought you to investigate Tim? Couldn't find someone who doesn't hate the military, huh."

"Wanting bad people to face consequences for their actions is not hating the military," Walter said. "We're here to figure out if Timothy is guilty or innocent, not decide it."

Wanda moved toward the door. "I will leave you all to whatever this is."

"Well I know I don't like people assuming he's guilty," Paige said, nodding to Wanda before the other woman left. "We all knew him. Did he, answer me honestly, ever give any of you the impression that he was that kind of person? I don't think so."

"Well…"

Everyone turned toward Toby. "I mean, at the time? No. But looking back…"

"What on _Earth_ could you possibly come up with?" Paige asked.

"Uh…" Toby shifted his weight. "Do you remember when he asked you to meet his parents?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember how he asked you?"

"Of course I do," Paige said. "I'm not a child, Toby. You can tell me what you're getting at without all the leading questions."

Toby shrugged. "I just…thinking back, I think it was a bit manipulative how he knew his parents were going to be in town the entire time, but waited not until you'd spent money on a dress, but until you were in the garage in front of the team, to spring meeting them on you. He basically backed you into a corner where you presumably felt pressured to say yes to it."

"Toby, that's not manipulation."

"Did you feel pressured?"

Paige was quiet. "Meeting the parents is a big step."

"Okay."

"What do you mean 'okay?'"

"I mean, I'm not going to force you to tell me every little thing you felt that day. Just…think about it yourself. Be honest with yourself. And then you decide whether or not you felt pressured. Because I know I would have."

"Remember when we were in Ireland?" Happy said suddenly. "He always hated Walter. Walter always hated him. So they were pretending to be all buddy buddy in Ireland. The way that whole thing played out was Walter wound up getting beaten up – off of Tim's advice and actions. But Tim didn't beat him up. He just molded the situation into one where Walter got his ass kicked by other people. He got what he wanted – Walter being in that situation – but he also got brownie points with Paige, and with all of us, by making it seem like he was actually on Walter's side."

"There's a lot of circumstantial stuff in that theory," Paige said.

"Sure. But tell me what proves me wrong."

"He did seem quite pleased with that outcome," Sylvester said.

"You know what? Screw you guys." Paige stood up. "All of you." She stormed out the door, power walking through the offices and out the front. There was a foot path, an incline, leading seemingly to nowhere. She took it. At the top of the incline was a sign that said _picnic area, .5 miles_. A picnic area would have somewhere to sit. She followed the sign, continuing to speed walk down the path until an empty fire pit and three wooden tables came into view. She sat down on one, regretting it when she realized that the table was damp. Too late to avoid gross jeans now. She stayed put.

_Fuck all of them._ None of that was wrong of Tim. Walter acted like a child. He'd got beaten up in Ireland because he'd acted like a child. He'd followed her to Tahoe – something in recent years she'd come to find romantic, but today was annoying her again. She remembered how upset it had made Tim, how he'd asked her what felt like a million times for reassurance that she'd gone there for him and only him, how he'd passive aggressively spoken later about keeping what was his, knowing Walter heard.

Paige supposed that his possessiveness over her after only a handful of dates was a bit much. But also…wasn't Tim _right_ to feel insecure about her and Walter? After all, Walter was who she'd wound up marrying. Walter was the love of her life. He was jealous because he'd read the room correctly.

And his somewhat violent tendencies…he was a Navy SEAL who probably had PTSD. That he was trained to use violence, that he had past trauma…that didn't mean he would have ever turned that on her. Or Lauren.

And yet, Lauren was dead, and the husband usually did it.

She didn't know what to think.

"Paige?"

"What do you want, Florence?" she said, not looking over her shoulder.

The pine needles crunching told her that the older woman was coming closer. Then she appeared in Paige's peripheral vision. "Can I sit?"

"I guess."

Florence lowered herself a couple feet away from Paige. "You know I understand what it's like to feel ganged up on."

"I don't feel ganged up on."

"They were dog piling you."

"Okay. I agree with that."

"I never knew Tim," she said. "Now I don't like him, don't get me wrong. Because you and Walter are supposed to be together and he complicated that." She smirked. "But in all seriousness, I don't have a horse in that race."

"But you also think he did it."

"I just know how rarely Toby is wrong. And I know that Toby wouldn't say he thinks Tim did it unless he was absolutely sure, because he knows how much that would hurt you. But we still have to, you know, look at the house and the evidence and…stuff. And we're going to give the opinion that the evidence tells us to give. It's going to have nothing to do with your relationship history or any of their feelings about the guy."

"But that's just it," she said. "We're here because of that. You know they didn't open up the phone book and close their eyes, and then just happened to point at us."

"I think they probably did pick us for a reason," Florence said. "But we can't spend time trying to figure out why. We'd probably outsmart ourselves twenty times over."

"Like that scene with the poisoned drink in The Princess Bride," Paige said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but I trust it's a good example." Florence looked down at her feet. "You were there when Tilly was born. I was in denial. I was sure that Toby could find a way to stop it from happening. But…she came that day anyway. Sometimes things are the way they are even if you don't want to believe it. Same with me and my group. I was in denial about needing help. I thought I just had to get away from everyone who I loved and I'd be my own person again. But it wasn't that that was preventing me from being whole. I needed something else. And I don't know how great a metaphor that actually is. But the point is, I was wrong about a lot of things. And it's hard to come to terms with a situation being so different than what you think it is or want it to be. But denial doesn't help. I hope Tim didn't do it. But if he did…not to get too tough love on you, but you'll have to find a way to process that."

"You know what's really weird?" Paige asked.

"What?"

"That somehow, of everyone, it's easiest to hear all this from you."

"That's not weird. Our recent history is way more important than what's distant. And if you think about it, it makes sense. Sometimes you need your partner. Sometimes you need a friend. And I'm a friend who's almost uncomfortably similar to your husband."

Paige couldn't help but laugh.

Both of their phones buzzed at the same time. Paige got to hers first. "It's Walter," she said. "Happy and Toby are going to the house. They'll need you when you can."

Florence nodded. "I'm on it."

A second message came through, this time outside of the group chat. Walter's phone to Paige's phone. She looked at it.

_Take your time. I love you._


	48. Chapter 48

**Updates happen when you're home alone and inexplicably can't sleep at 2am.**

* * *

Paige did not go to the house. She didn't want to see the home Tim and Lauren had made together. She didn't want to see where Lauren had died. She didn't want to stand where a violent assault had taken place. She didn't want to see where Tim possibly took an innocent civilian's life. That made it even worse than just knowing that she was looking at a place where someone was murdered.

If he did it, then it could have been her. Would have been her, if they'd stayed together. She didn't know Lauren, but she did know that Lauren didn't deserve what happened to her. Even if she'd said cruel things, even if she'd confessed to an affair, even if she'd threatened to walk out on Tim…none of those things were capital offenses. None of those things were punishable by death without trial. Even if she'd killed someone herself. Murderers still got their day in court.

As Tim would. If he did it.

She thought about what her friends had said. Yes, she'd felt trapped, tricked into agreeing to meet Tim's parents before she was ready. Yes, she saw their perspective of what had all happened in Ireland. And she thought about how Tim had asked, while not asking, for her to accompany him to Jordan. I _want_ to ask you to come, he'd said. But he stopped shy of point blank asking.

She saw that in a different light now. He had made his desires clear without actually asking anything of her, so if she stayed, he technically hadn't been rejected. If she'd come along and grown to resent it, well, it was her choice to come in the first place. Because he hadn't asked her. Not really.

She remembered how he'd always gotten her to tell him that the issues with Walter weren't his fault. She remembered how he got her to make fun of her family. She remembered how he'd jumped at the Fort Knox job when he'd learned how much money was involved, and how she'd been impressed and proud at him manipulating the geniuses, instead of suspicious of him for it, like she always was when it was anyone else.

She'd come to hate the person she was when she was with him. And that was partially her fault. But it was partially who he was that changed her.

When the team returned from the house, some tests pending, others still left to be run, they didn't tell her what they'd found, or what they thought. She knew that was because they all thought he was guilty.

But she realized that she did, too.

The police had put them up in a motel, and Paige was silent as she and Walter entered their room. He called Cabe and Allie, and she took the phone into the hallway when it was her turn to talk to Amber. Hearing her sweet girl sing songs over the phone helped to settle her soul. Not entirely. But enough. For a few minutes.

She came back into the room, and she and Walter bid their daughter goodnight together. They sat on the small couch by the window, and when Walter hung up the phone, he stayed there, quiet; he wasn't looking at her, but she knew he was paying attention to her all the same. Her posture. How she was breathing. What she was doing with her hands.

She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. "I need to get ready for bed," she said. "Long day tomorrow. But it feels like getting up off this couch is the biggest chore I've ever been tasked with. And I've birthed two babies."

"Well, this is a pretty low, tiny couch," Walter said. "So I mean, it's comparable."

She smirked. Reaching over, she took one of his hands and squeezed it before sighing and getting up. She went into the bathroom, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She stood silently for a while, perfectly still, and then slowly began to strip. Shirt. Bra. Slacks. Socks. Panties. She stood there, staring, her eyes trailing over her physical self.

She didn't realize how long she was standing there before Walter rapped at the door. "Are you okay?"

"Is it true?" she asked, "that every cell in your body replaces after seven years?"

"Seven to ten years," Walter said through the door. "Some of it is depending on who you ask."

Paige stared into the mirror again, studying herself, just as she and Walter had jokingly done not too long ago. But this time, she wasn't seeing signs of age. She was seeing herself as someone who didn't exist seven years ago. As someone who was almost entirely different than a decade prior.

She turned, opening the door and meeting Walter's eyes. "I am so glad," she said quietly, "that I'll soon have a body that he never touched."

* * *

Toby was uncharacteristically quiet. Sure, he was quiet sometimes, but this was a _different_ quiet, and Happy didn't like it. "Doc. I just can't. Like, part of me thinks it makes total sense that Tim did this. The other part of me is like…no. He dated our friend. We took him places with us. We trusted him with our lives."

"We _liked_ him," Toby said. "Kinda."

"At least we weren't as wrong as we've ever been," Happy said. "I think Collins was a worse call than Tim."

"I'm not sure what that says about us. That the terrorist only _might_ be the worst person we've ever trusted."

"You think this is going to jeopardize our shot of getting that money?" Happy asked.

"God." Toby sighed. "I'd completely forgotten about that."

"You know what else we forgot about?"

"What?"

"Who's feeding the parrot while we're gone?"

"Oh, fuck." Toby groaned. "I will never forgive myself if that thing dies and I can't torment Sly with it."

"I'm sure Cabe won't mind feeding it. Honestly Paige probably told him to. She thinks of everything."

"Yeah." Toby was quiet for a moment. "I miss the kids."

"I do too," Happy said.

"I mean like more than usual." Toby took off his hat and held it in his hands, staring down at it and frowning, as if he'd noticed some imperfection that suddenly seemed massive.

"You're probably thinking about how Lauren's stepmother is so far away and she felt safe leaving her, and now look what's happened. And you realized how often we leave Tad and Ellie behind, and even though we know Cabe and Allie won't hurt them, something still could always happen that's outside of their control."

Toby looked at her, raising his eyebrows as she sat down on the bed next to him. "You the behaviorist now?"

"No," she said. "I've just been married to one for a long time." She rested her head on his shoulder. "And also," she added quietly, "I'm feeling the exact same way."

* * *

"You want the bed?"

"Where would you sleep?"

Sylvester gestured to the far side of the room. "Sofa."

"Sylvester, that sofa is almost smaller than me, I'll sleep on it."

"That's not the gentlemanly thing to do."

"You be gentlemanly, I'll be practical."

"Practical would just be us sharing," he pointed out.

"I agree, but you were the one who suggested we not do that by asking if I wanted the bed."

"I'm okay sharing if you are."

"I'm okay sharing if you are."

They stared at each other. Sylvester raised his eyebrows. "So…we've come to an agreement?"

"I think so."

Sylvester hated this. Some days it was so easy for them to talk to each other, to joke around like they always had. And then some days it was like…this. Where they acted like exes. He wasn't sure what their normal was supposed to be. He wasn't sure if they were technically exes or not.

Florence stared at the floor. "I hate this, Sylvester."

His heart pounded, and he didn't know if it was from anxiety or hope. "Hate what?"

"The way we are with each other sometimes. _This_ way we are."

He nodded. "It's not my favorite dynamic. But it's not the worst."

"_How_ is it not the worst?"

"Because it's still you. And I'll still take talking to you over most other things."

She came closer to him. "You're my favorite person in the whole world. And I hate how much I've put you through. I hate making you always doubt what's coming next. I hate being in this weird space between wife and ex. I hate that I'm not the person that I was a few months ago. I know how hard this is for you and I don't know how you still love me, because I feel like loving me is nearly impossible right now. Especially since I still don't know where I need to be."

Sylvester lifted his left hand, using the index finger on his right one to point to his wedding ring. "For better or for worse, Lori," he said.

He leaned down, placing a gentle, chaste kiss on her forehead. "In sickness, and in health."


	49. Chapter 49

**Whew the mental health has sucked, well, remember Toby's friend with the giant balls?**

**Anyway, here's an update I should have had a week ago.**

* * *

Sylvester was having a bad dream.

Florence awoke – she'd heard once that people born with the kind of reproductive systems that give birth were hyperaware of high pitched sounds, to ensure that they'd wake up when their baby cried. She'd noticed that since Tilly was born, even though she'd spent almost no time around her, that sense was heightened. Maybe it somehow kicked into gear when she became a mother.

That still felt odd. Strange. Wrong. Florence Tipton – Dodd, somebody's mother.

She rolled over. She could see Sylvester in the dark, curled up as if attempting to protect himself. She thought she could remember Paige saying something about Walter having dreams about his sister. Florence wondered if Sylvester was also having dreams about Megan.

She rose to her knees, a hand gently on his shoulder, hoping she wouldn't startle him awake. She slowly rubbed his arm, shoulder to elbow and back again, wanting to speak but not knowing exactly what to say. Eventually, she opted with a quiet "Shhhh."

"Shhhh." Shoulder to elbow, elbow to shoulder. "Shhhh," and repeat. Again. Again. Again.

Eventually, he went silent and still, the bed creaking as his body relaxed. Florence stayed with him another few minutes, and then slipped off the mattress.

* * *

It was a funny set of circumstances, Florence thought, that led to her flying back to Los Angeles alone. Just that morning she was running chemical tests on evidence found in the Armstrong home and during Lauren Armstrong's autopsy. Now, she was carrying the split sample back home, to see if an independent lab would find the same results.

She also was going home because they still needed Sylvester there, to help Walter with his tasks. And when Sylvester admitted that morning that he'd had a nightmare about Tilly, Florence knew she had to be the one to provide him with reassurance that the baby was alright.

It was daunting. What if she showed up and Tilly _wasn't_ alright? Sure, the hospital would call, sure Cabe and Allie would let them know…but what if something happened just minutes before she walked in? She wasn't strong enough to deal with that. She'd always thought that if the girl didn't make it, she'd find out from Sylvester, the only one she trusted to break that news in a way that wouldn't make Florence herself want to die.

So now she was in the hospital, in the room, a nurse handing her the tiny bundle that contained her daughter. "The doctor will be in to talk to you in a few minutes," the nurse said, and although she knew that was routine, Florence's mind instantly went to panic mode. Doctor? What was wrong? What was he coming to tell her?"

"Okay. Thank you," she managed, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible.

Florence held Tilly against her chest. The baby was coming along. She looked like a baby now. She didn't have _chubby_ cheeks, but they were getting there. She at least had the appearance of cheeks, now. Her arms were thin, _spindly_ was the word that came to mind. Florence could still cup the entirety of her daughter's head in her hand.

But she was alive. Some details of her birth were entirely blocked from Florence's memory. Like her ring cutting into the side of her finger as Walter held her hand. She hadn't even noticed that until later. But she could remember some details with agonizing clarity. And other than the fear, there was one thing she remembered particularly well.

Toby examining Tilly. Florence, Walter, and Paige waiting. And then Toby speaking.

"_Alive."_

Alive.

That was the one thing that remained consistent over the past few months. Tilly was alive. And right now she was alive in Florence's arms, her mother the closest person to her of the population in the world. Florence still felt guilty that the emotion that showed itself the strongest wasn't an overwhelming love.

But she was glad that Tilly was alive. She was glad to feel her warmth through the blanket. It was…reassuring.

And looking at Tilly now, Florence could see Sylvester in her. She could see herself too, sure, but Sylvester shined through. That gave her a warm feeling. This was Sylvester's child. _Her_ Sylvester's child. Somehow, that was easier to think about. It was easier to feel something.

There was a knock on the side of the door, and then the curtain was pushed aside to reveal a very tall man who appeared to be in his early forties. "Hi there, Mrs. Dodd," he said. "I'm Thomas Suchyta, one of Tilly's doctors."

"Nice to meet you," she said. "I'm Florence, one of Tilly's parents." It was half a joke. Half an assertion.

He chuckled. "It's good to see you. It's been a bit odd the last few days, she normally has one of you here all the time."

Florence appreciated his 'one of you.' Others might have said 'she normally has her father here.'

Dr. Suchyta sat across from Florence and Tilly, explaining the baby's progress, her milestones, what they were still waiting on, what they were looking for. He specified that they were hoping, should things go well, to send her home around what her due date would have been.

It was supposed to be encouraging. But it just gave Florence a pang. She was supposed to be still pregnant. Every little movement that Tilly made, she was supposed to be feeling inside, calling people to lay their hands on her stomach.

"Is there anything in particular that's concerning you?" Suchyta said. "Any worries that I can do my best to minimize or explain?"

"She doesn't know me," she said. "I know that sounds shallow. That isn't my biggest concern. I just want her to live. And thrive. But…she doesn't know me." It was her own fault. She knew that. But she still hated it.

"She will," said Suchyta. "She'll start recognizing your voice, and your smell."

"Does she know my husband?"

"She appears to," Suchyta said. "But hey, it's okay that she doesn't know you yet," he added quickly when she dropped her eyes. "So many people adopt children; most of them don't know their parents this young. And they're just as much their parents' children as Tilly is yours, or that my sons are mine."

Florence certainly knew that. Tad was Happy and Toby's son. He knew he was adopted, but not everyone who knew him did. It didn't matter. His parents were his parents. And then there was Walter and Ralph. Ralph was Walter's son as much as anyone was their parent's child. And while Tad did come into Happy and Toby's life as a baby, Ralph didn't meet Walter until he was almost nine years old

"I know all of this," she said. "But adoptive parents are there for their kids as soon as they come into their lives. Tilly was born nearly three months ago. And I haven't been here. And I don't…I am…I haven't visited, you know. Much."

"So, if I may give a personal example, my ex – wife," Suchyta said, "she and I got married young, had our kids young, then grew apart. She started dating someone else after the divorce, and he left her when she found out she was pregnant. When their daughter was four months old, he came back into her life. She asked me – we are amicable – if I thought she should let him see the baby. And you know what I told her?"

"What?"

"That it's better to give him the second chance now. If he leaves again when Keltie was seven months old, she's not hurt. If he shows back up and then leaves when she's seven years old, she'll feel abandoned." He smiled at Florence. "You haven't been here much, fine. But Tilly doesn't know that. She's not going to remember that. She's not going to remember any of this. You still have time to bond with her. And years down the road…it won't matter to her that you weren't around the first few weeks of her life. By the time she's old enough to understand what love is, she'll know you love her."

_But I don't_, Florence thought. _Or…do I?_

They'd talked at the support group about how depression can numb a person, make it harder for them to enjoy things that they used to, make them unmotivated, make them feel things in a more muted way than they had before.

Florence looked down at Tilly. "Maybe I do love you," she whispered when Suchyta had gone. "Maybe I just can't feel it yet."

* * *

**Coming up in the next few chapters: more Ralph/Patty/Daisy, a tie from events in their lives back to Scorpion, a one on one scene with Walter and Tim, and a Paige/Florence conversation that I'm really excited about.**

**And yes, this fic has an ending; I'm not just going to string the characters along indefinitely. You might be able to guess how - or at least at what point - it will conclude, and you might not, but we're getting there. Not quite yet, though.**


	50. Chapter 50

**Hello lovelies! Sorry I vanished. Yay mental health plus covering a coworker's vacation. I actually was going to publish another chapter before this one, but I switched them for a couple reasons, including that it's easier to get this one out than the next one in terms of actually finishing writing it, and I just wanted to get you guys an update!**

**Warning, not for this chapter but for a couple in the future, this fic is going to get fairly dark, maybe worse than anything that's happened so far. I will post more warnings before those specific chapters, but please don't read those updates unless you're in a head space to handle some tough stuff (again though, I promise everybody lives!)**

* * *

TrueCrimeMegaFan1989: I think she ran off with Kai Hovell.

AlwaysOnTheCase: Kai Hovell died in the stage collapse. Stop making up scandalous conspiracy theories and dragging the dead into it. ESPECIALLY when you know it's not true. Stop.

Ralph sighed. He hated the message boards. Rumor, misinformation, outright lies. But yet he kept reading them. Because maybe, somehow, he'd find out news on there. Something real. Maybe the answer was there.

_Where was Meg Mitchell?_

The forums had hundreds of pages of comments. There were still nightly reports on the news. But interest was fading, outside of the internet community. Fewer outside people were joining the search. The segments were getting shorter. There was still interest – especially online – but the news was getting bored, especially without a lead.

And her family was getting more desperate.

Fortunately, on the plus side, more and more people were improving from the disaster at the fundraiser. Daisy was _so close_ to feeling normal again. She and Patty were currently in the middle of the living room, some online radio streaming from one of their laptops.

Ralph was surprised when he saw his laptop screen change to a call screen. A Facebook call from Florence? Ralph quickly accepted the call. "Florence?"

"Huh?" The screen was showing a ceiling. Florence's face appeared at a slightly odd angle. "Ralph?"

"You call me by accident?" Ralph asked.

"I guess. Sorry!"

"No worries," he said. "I was wondering if something was wrong, you know, since you don't usually…"

"Yeah, no, nothing wr…I mean, nothing's gotten worse in the last few days, anyway."

"Are the rest of them still in Montana?" Ralph asked, even though he knew they were.

"Yeah. Couple more days, probably. So uh, how's things…there?"

Florence looked okay. Tired. A bit stressed. But not as bad as Ralph thought, considering what he knew she was going through. "Good news, here," he said, wanting not to think about Meg Mitchell, "the show Daisy was cast in is going to let the understudy open, but-"

"_Wonder_study!" Daisy called. "We call them _wonder_studies."

"…but once she's recovered and gets her rehearsal time in, she'll be on as scheduled."

"That's great news," Florence said.

Daisy and Patty were dancing behind Ralph, he could see them in the reflection of his screen. They weren't dancing romantically, but more like one would at a club, or a wedding. It made him smile. Florence seemed to be smiling too. "How are things with…everything?" He asked.

"With your mom?"

"Well, yeah."

"Well, we got the results of the split sample DNA test. It matches Tim. They're still processing the crime scene but…"

Ralph sighed. "Damn."

"Did you like him?"

"It was…complicated," Ralph said. "I didn't like that he was with my mom, not really. But I didn't think he was a bad person. I don't think any of us did. Even Walter, with all his envy, all the petty that went on between the two of them, I don't think he imagined that Tim would be capable of this."

"_Everybody wants top market,"_ Daisy sang along with the radio, pulling Patty in a circle, _"but I'm a little bit unraveled. Everybody wants the new model, but I'm a little bit more traveled. If you got the strength I do, then sign me up…"_

"I'm talking to Florence here," Ralph grumbled.

"Don't worry about it," Florence said. "I'm glad she's feeling better."

"She's pushing it a little too much right now, I think," Ralph said. "She'll be sore tomorrow."

"But it's good she's feeling well."

"Oh yeah. Of course." He bit his lip. "It will be weird. When she's gone."

"Patty going with her?"

"I don't know what the plan is anymore. But I think so."

Daisy twirled Patty. "_She's gotta have patient hands, because the way to my heart is through my mind."_ She grinned, coming up behind Ralph and raising her voice as she and Patty danced right behind him. Ralph rolled his eyes at Florence.

"_Been way too long since somebody's body kept me up all night, yeah, that good kinda keepin' me up all night."_

"Wait," Patty said, stopping and staring at Daisy, whose voice trailed off to leave only the radio. "What's the _bad_ kind of someone keeping you up all night?"

"Maybe when you kick me in the back in your sleep?"

Florence smirked, putting a hand in front of her mouth.

Patty shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Can you guys _please_ at least do this over there?" Ralph asked.

"Sorry, Ralphie," Daisy said, reaching over to dig her knuckles into the top of his head. He swatted her. "Just because I'm sitting down doesn't mean I can't kick your butt."

"You can't kick my butt with a six inch height and hundred pound weight advantage," Daisy said.

"Eighty pound weight advantage," Ralph said. "But fair point."

"What are you planning on doing?" Florence asked, "when they…leave?"

Ralph sighed. "I don't know. I have something here. I'm established. I have work. But I can work anywhere. My life has been Daisy and Patty for…years. And I don't want to go to New York. I know I'd be near my grandma. But, I mean, people aren't supposed to know she's alive and I feel like that might endanger her, even if I only visited and lived with the girls again. But they won't want me third wheeling once they get married." He shrugged. "I don't know. You wouldn't happen to have ideas," he joked.

Florence looked serious. "I mean…you could come here."

"California?"

"Scorpion."

Ralph felt a sudden ache in his gut. Homesickness. He recognized it. But he'd been away so long. Carving out his own thing. His own life.

"Ralph," Florence said, "one thing I've learned, or rather, one thing I am learning, is it's okay to lean on people who love you."


End file.
